


The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown

by Goldstone_Wolf



Series: The Hermits But They're In D&D And I Make the Rules [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Also there are OCs because it's a D&D crossover and that just happens, Animal Death, As in someone is killed via a gun several times in this story, Because yes, Bows, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Characters are listed alphabetically, Death Threats, Fire, Food mentions, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Implied/Refrenced Gun Violence, It'll make sense later it's not like on the mouth, Knives, Lots and lots of pain, Murder, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE I DO ON MINECRAFT EASY MODE, Pain, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Poisoning, Sharp Objects, Swords, Tiefling Discrimination, Weapons, Why Did I Write This?, also yes i know it's a long fic name, doing something stupid, flames, it's on purpose, more to be added - Freeform, neither does helsknight just a note, someone nearly burns alive, the last three hermits are all rotated i, the number of chapters is a GUESS it is not for sure, there may be more there may be less, they do not show up in the first chapter, they're going to go to hell eventually, tws for:, why are some of the tags all weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 122,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Twenty-four adventurers, nicknamed the Hermits, end up on a quest to find the Cursed Crown. It'd be easy...if it weren't for:1) The fact they don't know each other,2) The fact some of them don't want to know each other,3) and the fact some of them are from species that everyone thinks are either myth or extinct. Oh, and some of the other group members are why those species are thought of that way.Add to that their own personal baggage, and the fact they have six less members than the other groups, a penchant to get in trouble, and a mystery benefactor who is probably the harbinger of chaos...things are going to get interesting.
Relationships: ALL PLATONIC, Everyone & Everyone, The Hermits - Relationship
Series: The Hermits But They're In D&D And I Make the Rules [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020979
Comments: 145
Kudos: 161





	1. 0-Chapter Index (Which Will Update)

_ Not the Actual Fic _

0-Chapter Index (Which Will Update) [YOU ARE HERE]

1-A Note from The Author

2-Prologue

_ Act I: The Quest Begins _

3-I: The White Lion Tavern

4-II: The Shield of Thylama

5-III: Keralis’ Shadow

6-IV: Fireforge

7-V: Three Birds, One Stone

8-VI: The Festival of Flowers

_ Interlude I: Seven Crows  _

9-VII: Seven Crows

_ Act II: Silver Heights _

10-VIII: Dallara

11-IX: Deal with the Devil

12-X: Salt, Pepper, and Cloves

13-XI: In the Heights

_ Interlude II: Calculated Risks  _

14-XII: Calculated Risks

_ Act III: The Storm’s Claws _

15-XIII: Highway to Hullenbróck

16-XVI: Clethtinthallar

17-XVII: The Skyfire Summit

18-XVIII: Three Keys

19-XIX: Dragonborn

20-XX: Storm’s Fall

_ Interlude III: Phoenix Fire _

21-XXI: Phoenix Fire

_ Act IV: The First Key _

22-XXII: Journey to Allecos

23-XXIII: Ancient Words and Shadows Tall

24-XXIV: Silence and Stones

25-XXV: Voidwalkers

26-XXVI: Escape!

27-XXVII: Cleo’s Secret

28-XXVIII: The Ghost of Mora Phós

29-XXIX: Dungeon’s Depths

30-XXX: Wolf’s Teeth

31-XXXI: Trials of the En’dir

32-XXXII: Return to Mora Phós 

33-XXXIII: King’s Shadow

_ Interlude IV: Return of the Queen  _

34-XXXIV: Return of the Queen

_ Act V: Losing Hope _

35-XXXV: Fallen Angel

36-XXXVI: White Doves and Wild Wolves

37-XXXVII: The Staff of Riune-Tsvari

38-XXXVIII: Ventus Arayan

39-XXXIX: Curse of Ybarthin

40-XL: The Second Key

41-XLI: Glaedirian (K)Nights

_ Interlude V: Dawn of War  _

42-XLII: Dawn of War

_ Act VI: The King’s Key _

43-XLIII: The Gladiator King

44-XLIV: In the Pits

45-XLV: Escape! (Not Again)


	2. 1-A Note from the Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your lovely author gifts you a little note as to why they’re writing this story, where the inspiration comes from, and also leaves an apology. Feel free to skip, I’m trying to make this funny.

Hello, Dear Reader!

Whether you came from randomly finding this, one of my other fics, or even just another fandom, welcome! If a friend referred this to you, welcome as well! This is “The Hermits and the Quest for the Cursed Crown”, a mix of Hermitcraft (and thus technically Minecraft) and Dungeons and Dragons! As you can see from the synopsis, this is going to be about a group of the hermits going on a quest to find the “Cursed Crown”. Now, what do I mean when I say “a group of hermits”?

I mean _Grian_ , I mean _Scar_ , I mean _Mumbo_ , I mean _Xisuma_. You have a hermit that’s currently active on the server? Oh, yeah, they’re on here! You want a list? Here you go (because the tags are shorter): we have Bdubs, Cub, Doc, Etho, False, Scar, Grian, Hypno, Jevin, Impulse, Iskall, Joe, Keralis, Mumbo, Ren, Stress, Tango, TFC, we got Beef, Wels, xB, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Cleo! Yeah, all twenty-four currently active hermits that I got written down! Additionally, we’ll also have Biffa, Jessassin, and Python coming in at some point, probably, or otherwise will be mentioned somewhere. Is this going to be crazy? Yes! Am I going to regret this? Probably! Do I care?

Not really, no. You don’t have to read this if you don’t want to, I’m doing this for fun and it’s going to be abso-freaking-lutely _great_ to write! Speaking of writing, I’m going to segue into my next point: why am I writing this?

Well, I’m writing this because I really like Dungeons and Dragons. Heck, if you looked at the fandom list for my profile then you would find that I wrote 70 fics for a D&D fandom called High Hopes Low Rolls (check it out on YouTube it’s awesome) from when I joined to…September? Anyways, lots of writing for D&D, but I’d also really like to do my own games as either a DM or a player. Unfortunately, I haven’t had the chance to do either (still waiting for a reply) and I don’t want to lose this idea while I have it. So, instead, I’m writing this out. Feel free to use the whole idea with your own homebrew (this is literally all homebrew with some information from a singular book I, ahem, _borrowed_ from my brother’s room) games, just don’t try and make money if you’ve copied it word for word because you should be having your own adventure.

Anyways, this is for fun and it’s also going to be a great writing exercise because nothing says exercising like trying to balance twenty-four characters in the same party while also trying to keep people entertained and the like. Let’s jump into this. (And yes, before you ask, I went and did character pages, summarized, for all of these guys.)

So I’m just going to start before it gets awkward.


	3. 2-Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prologue of the story (well, duh).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All TWs I could think of are in tags, feel free to tell me any I missed. Or complain/compliment/etc in the comments, I don’t mind.   
> Anyways, let’s jump into this.

Moonlight reflected on the tawny, dappled wings of a barn owl as it flew over the city of Tevourn.

Wings flapping silently, the raptor tilted its head and then focused dark, chocolate brown eyes on one of the alleys. Movement had caught the creature’s attention, and it soared down to land on the corner of a building. If any had seen it, they would have thought it odd to find such a rare bird in Tevourn. The previous queen had ordered them all slaughtered after an omen on her name, leaving the population critically endangered and nearly extinct. Still, the owl’s defiant existence went unnoticed by the person below.

Footsteps slapped on the cobble street as a young woman ducked into the alley. Hurriedly, she glanced over her shoulder, panting and fear splashed on her olive-toned features. Pink flowers, the same hue as her eyes, adorned her hair in a crown, and she skidded to a stop when she came to a dead end. Her pursuer approached, a scimitar in hand, and she fumbled for her own weapons from the pack at her hip. Frantic and worried, she dropped the dagger and winced as it clattered on the dirt and stone.

“Aw, does the little girl not know how to wield a knife? A shame,” shaking his head, her pursuer grinned and brandished his scimitar, walking up, “Too bad I’m pretty sure someone like you would have _quite_ the bounty on your head in Sanara. And _I_ fancy getting myself a new set—”

Suddenly, he grunted, dropping his blade and clapping a hand over the side of his throat. In the moonlight, a unique silvery dagger sprouted from his neck. The man dropped to his knees, then slumped to the side, clearly dead. Someone else landed on the cobblestones, having jumped down from the roof opposite the barn owl. Once again, it flapped its wings and ruffled out its feathers, watching with keen interest almost like it understood what was going on.

Pressing herself against the wall, the young woman whimpered and stared at the newcomer. Meanwhile, he ripped his blade from the body’s neck, rooted through its pockets, and then looked up. “Are you alright?” A gruff, slightly hoarse voice asked. Moonlight bounced off of white hair and amber eyes glittered in the dim light. The owl leaned closer, wings slightly unfolded. It was ready to attack, but only if necessary.

“Wh-what?” She leaned away as much as she could, brown hair mussed from her run. Meanwhile, he approached and then picked up her dagger, checking over the blade and then handing it over.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“N-no.” She took the knife, tucked it in her bag. Clearly, she wasn’t sure what to expect from him. “Wh-who are you?”

“A…an ally.” He had sounded almost like he was about to say ‘a friend’ at first, then had apparently decided better of it. “Are you here for the Cursed Crown assignment?”

Her head jerked up to look at him, and she stared at him with wide pink eyes for a moment. “Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“You’re a druid, I’m not sure what circle but you certainly don’t belong in the middle of _this_ city. Besides, you have that insignia.” He indicated the small drawing of a white lion, adding, “I have _that_ insignia, too. You’re going to the same place as I am. It’s in my best interests to keep _you_ alive so you can keep _me_ alive. Want me to take you there?”

“Uh—s-sure.” He nodded and then they made their way towards the White Lion tavern. The owl spread its wings and shot ahead of them, arriving at the roof and settling down to look over the druid and her new assassin companion as they walked towards the doors.

He opened the door for her, and she smiled gratefully before ducking inside. At their feet, a mouse jumped into the tavern and began bouncing along the floorboards. It ran by two men sitting at a table. One of them had a helmet on, with a clear visor. Hands bouncing nervously on the table, he glanced around and tapped his foot, freezing and looking to his friend when the other grabbed his friend. While the first’s class wasn’t very clear, he wore little more than leather armour and plain traveller’s clothes, the other was more clearly a druid. A yew wand stuck out of his bag, and kind dark eyes held his friend’s. “It’s getting harder to control.” The one with the helmet whispered. Underneath them, the mouse paused and scrabbled its way up to the seat, tiny claws digging into the grooved wood. “I don’t think I’ll be able to hide it much longer. We should—you should—”

His friend clutched his hands even more, smiling gently. The mouse got a glimpse of this as it curled into the corner of the chair. Brown flanks fluttered and a pink nose twitched quickly. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

“But what if—”

“You’ll be _fine_. We’ll figure it out. We’re getting so much gold from this, okay? We’ll find out what’s happening, I promise.” With a sigh, the one with the helmet looked down, and the mouse continued hopping on. A At another table, a dark-haired man with a cybernetic eye and a beard in studded leather armour was talking with three others. All were humanoid, but only one was a human. A scar split across the bridge of his tanned nose, pink and thin. His hair was brown, his eyes were a sort of mossy green, and he had the common robes of a wizard. They were a little tattered, threadbare in some areas, but perfect for who he was.

Another was a wood elf, with black hair and pale skin, dark eyes. An artificer, judging by the little robotic thing he was playing with on the table as the others talked. He seemed focused on what he was doing, a simple coat that was several sizes too large for him hanging off his slim frame. As the mouse leaned forwards, sniffing for something, it could see a scrape that was yet to heal on his cheek and the scorched area above his lip where there was probably once a moustache.

The last member the man with the cybernetic eye was talking to was…barely human. His skin was mottled shades of green on one side and fully metal on the other, a bright red eye gleaming out from the shadows. Whether he had been some kind of monster in a past life or some experiment by a crazed scientist, it wasn’t clear, but he talked with the others with little more than a soft hiss of a lisp.

“So you think that this is crazy, or is it just me?” The one with the scarred face asked, looking around at the others. Excitement danced in his eyes. “I mean, they’re asking _us_ to find the _Cursed Crown._ ”

“They’re asking everyone to find the Cursed Crown, we’re not the only ones.” The monster-like one replied curtly, and the one with the scarred face winced once. “We just happen to be the ones they shoved into the White Lion.”

“I think it could be interesting.” The wood elf replied, pointed ears twitching as he looked up from his work. There was an empty plate of chicken bones, the remnants of one of the travellers’ dinner, sitting beside him on the table. Dark eyes shining, he mused, “And there’s quite a reward in for us.”

“For the whole group, or individually?” The one with the cybernetic eye asked, revealing a distinct accent. Running a hand through his short hair, he brushed something off his other shoulder and then added, “I looked at the listings. Most groups have thirty, and we’re short three members. Plus the _other_ three that won’t be showing up for Neté knows how long.”

Frowning with concerned, the monster one asked, “We’re short six?”

“Yes, but the ones we’re going to be moving out with are here. We leave tomorrow morning.” Glancing at the stairs, he added, “We have six rogues, three druids, three fighters, a couple rangers. As far as I know, you three are our only cleric, artificer, and wizard. Then there’s _that_ one over there, with the druid.” He nodded over to the pair of the druid and the helmed man.

The others glanced over. “What do you mean by that?” The scarred one asked, green eyes darting over.

“He’s listed on the roster, but he doesn’t have a class. No one has any idea what he is.” Eyes narrowing, the cybernetic eye whirring as it did, he added darkly, “I’m not sure that even _he_ knows.”

The mouse scrabbled over to another nearby table, where three others were playing a game of cards. A halfling ranger, with short dark hair and a beard and a broad grin, smacked his hand down on the table and then took a sip of ale. “There’s my hand. Learned from the best in the barracks.”

The human chuckled, his chain mail rattling as he did. A longsword was hooked to his belt. Rolling his shoulders, he set out his own hand. “You’re not very good at this. Your poker face sucks.” As he glanced to the last member of the table, he took a sip from his own tankard.

The third member was a humanoid shape, but he didn’t quite look human. Splashed across one side of his face was what appeared to be translucent cerulean and azure slime, freckling his pale skin and turning one of his eyes a darker blue. Setting his mouth in a thin line and shifting in his own chain mail, he set his cards down on the table and looked out the window at the silvery face of the moon where it hung in the sky outside. “Tomorrow we leave to start this quest. How many of us are going to come back?”

The human slapped him on the shoulder gently. “It’s going to be alright. We’ll make it through. Besides, we’ve all survived worse, haven’t we?”

The half-slime shrugged and continued to look out the window. A boisterous cackle split the air and the mouse jumped, running along and towards the sound’s origin. The door opened, a stout dwarf with a massive warhammer over one shoulder, dark hair and a matching beard, and blue eyes, sauntered in. Meanwhile, three more adventurers, on the younger side than some of the others, were sitting around another table. Two were blonds, one a young man with elven ancestry, striking purple eyes, and pale purple freckles dotting his pale skin. The other had a long tail that thudded against the seat as he laughed. “Oh, that’s a _good_ one! I’ll have to—” Breaking up into another fit of laughter, he slammed a fist against the table and turned to the third member of the group. This one seemed to be almost fully human, the only difference was the golden-yellow scales freckling beneath his matching eyes. Two were rogues, all were decked out in yellow armour, but the one with pointed ears had an ocarina sitting beside him on the wood table. “Did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that,” the other replied quietly. A grin painted his face, and he stretched his shoulders like his clothes were rubbing against his back in an uncomfortable way.

The mouse glanced around, spotting a pair of high elves watching the rest of the tavern occupants almost with disdain as they leaned against the bar. One was older, with a greying beard and hair and a lined face. A magic prosthetic replaced one of his legs, and he glanced over at his companion. She may have been his daughter, with golden blonde hair and blue eyes. A longsword hung at her hip, and she had chain mail on. A holy symbol, matching her companion’s, hung around her neck.

She scoffed, turned to the elven bartender, and then ordered a drink. An amber drink, probably some kind of whiskey, was slid over to her. Meanwhile, the artificer yelped as his creation suddenly skittered off the table. It scrabbled up the leg of a redheaded woman with pale green skin, wearing the simple leather armour of a young druid. Screaming, she started flailing around. Her companion, a man with dark brown hair and a scruffy beard in studded ranger’s leather, grabbed at the little robot and held it out. Throwing it away, he growled something in almost a wolflike way, but the mouse simply ran up another man’s leg.

This one was blond as well, a sad expression painting his features. He did nothing to prevent the mouse from moving up him, allowed it to skitter up his arm as he watched until it scrambled on top of the table. Nearby, another human, a bard with a guitar sitting next to him on the seat, was scribbling something down in his notebook. Two tankards of ale and some plates of food sat around them.

The bard gently scooped the mouse up as the other patrons of the inn had a rather cacophonous screaming match of sorts behind them. Holding it close with a soft chuckle, he gently touched it on the nose, then offered it a leaf of lettuce. “Be more careful. It’d be a shame to see such a pretty little creature caught in a mouse trap. Alright, dearie?”

It squeaked, then took the lettuce. Gently, he set it down on the seat, and it scrabbled off once more. Running between boots and heels of other members of the tavern, a couple staying in the inn for their honeymoon and some others simply travelling about but not sent for the Cursed Crown assignment, walked up and down and the stairs.

Two men walked up the stairs, one chatting softly. One was a warlock, in the traditional robes that hid leather armour beneath, and the other a monk, in the traditional garb of his class. Both were seemingly human, and both had smiles plastered on their faces, although the younger monk seemed much more excited about the prospect of the adventure ahead. They had the same white lion insignia as the other adventurers. Skittering off once more, the mouse arrived at an old, dark oak door and squeezed beneath the gap of the door. Nibbling on the lettuce in its little paws, it glanced around.

A young man was standing in front of the bed. He was perhaps the age of the three who’d been laughing downstairs, although deep scars lashed across his back. Clearly, he had recently bathed, soaking wet, and he looked down at the white shirt in front of him. From his back, between his shoulders, sprouted two wings. The feathers were wet, dripping onto the floor. In some areas, the skin underneath shone bare and pale through gaps in the feather. He took a breath, then pulled the shirt on and followed it with a robe. Glancing around, he blinked a few times and then shuddered, almost like he had a dim memory.

Sitting on its hind legs again and watching him, the mouse tipped its head to the side. The young man smiled back, his dark blond hair plastered to his forehead until he ran a hand through it to slick it back. Then, the mouse shoved the last of the lettuce into its mouth, turned and hopped into the shadows.

Outside the tavern, a fox slipped underneath one of the windows, looking in at the state of the tavern. Then, it turned and rushed to the shadows of the nearby woods. Pausing at the crest of a hill, where the city was still visible, it tipped its head to the side. If anyone had been looking, they would have sworn that the fox had seemed to smile.

Then, it turned, and disappeared into the woods with the flick of a black-tipped tail.


	4. I-The White Lion Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grian wakes up in his room in the White Lion Tavern, then is introduced to the rest of his group. Is he happy about it? No, not particularly. Is he going to deal with it?  
> If he wants to get paid, then yes.   
> Or, in other words, the journey *finally* begins, the hermits meet one another, and things get…a little crazy at some points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs listed in tags. Yes, I listened to Critical Role while writing this. Don’t judge me these are long chapters, I’m stressed about my history class, and to top it all off I lost a really important manuscript for my physical job.  
> Now, on to my catharsis and your entertainment!

This adventure was not going to be Grian’s kind of thing.

Sitting up slowly, he glared out the window of the tavern and prepared himself to walk downstairs and introduce himself to the rest of his stupid parties. Of course, he first needed to pull on his own armour. A couple minutes, sure, but then he’d have to make his way down and he would have to talk to twenty-something people who’d probably want him dead if they actually knew what he was.

Folding his wings to the back, Grian flexed his wings and then yawned loudly, stretching them all out along with his arms and then donning his button-up shirt. It was white, just something he’d picked up along the way. Brown canvas, thankfully fitted (these he’d had for a while), matching leather boots and armour, and a jacket over it all to hide his wings a little better. He always needed layers. When he was younger, before he’d _finally_ picked up the magic abilities he had now, he’d worn a simple red jumper. Unfortunately, he’d ended up getting attacked by a wyvern and the jumper had been shredded to pieces.

Tying his boots, running a hand through his dark blonde hair, Grian packed up what he had left and then glanced around quickly. He had everything (there wasn’t that much), so he slung his pack over his shoulder, opened the door, and began to walk down the stairs.

Despite the fact that it was still early morning, the main tavern room was fairly busy. Two elves sat at the bar, a paladin and her older sorcerer companion. _High elves._ Glancing them over, Grian studied everything he could about them. They weren’t hiding anything, either. Judging by the rings on their fingers, he supposed they had to be nobility at the very least, and also unrelated. Yes, they had similar features, but there were slight differences in the set of their eyes and the fact he had a beard that made Grian suppose that he was less a grandfather and more of a male authority figure, a mentor of some sort. A regal shortsword sat at her hip, and there was a large wizard’s staff at his back. Packs were slung across their bags, and Grian watched them from the corner of his eye as he walked to the bar. The elven woman had to be perhaps a hundred. Meanwhile, her companion was at least five hundred, not quite middle-aged but not quite old either. She didn’t even appear to have sworn her oath, whilst he clearly had experience in the lines of his face and the magic prosthetic on his leg.

As he slid up to the bar, he noticed that they were both drinking mugs of ale. “Finally awake, boy. I’m sure you’re excited for the journey,” the barkeep, a thin forest gnome with ginger-brown hair and bright green eyes, laughed as he walked along the low counter (clearly built for him) on the other side of the bar. His tone was sarcastic, and Grian chuckled as he raised an eyebrow. “Care for breakfast or a drink?”

“Uh, both, please. A mug of ale, some cheese, and some bread. And some bacon as well, please.” Nodding, the gnome pulled out the supplies and Grian reached into his pocket. “Cost?”

“Four silver pieces and six copper, please.” Grian passed over the money, and the gnome passed him the plate. Sitting down at the bar, he glanced at the two elves.

“So, I assume you two are here for the Cursed Crown assignment?” He asked, looking around at the rest of the tavern and sipping from his mug. For a small city tavern, the ale wasn’t bad—actually, he’d say it was decent. A little dry, perhaps, but he guessed that was fine as he shoved a chunk of bread into his mouth.

The blond elf watched him curiously, and her companion cleared his throat. “Am I to presume you’re here for it as well?”

“I am.” Taking a breath, Grian dipped his head to the side and said, “Call me Grian. Arcane Trickster.”

“False, Paladin.”

“Any oath?”

False’s fair skin blushed and her blue eyes darted to her mentor. “Not yet. Soon, though.” Grian nodded quietly and then took another drink. For ale, it wasn’t too alcoholic. Better than the city water, anyways. He didn’t trust any place that didn’t have a proper aqueduct system—the ones he’d seen the day before had green moss dripping off of the dilapidated wooden sides.

“I am TFC. Sorcerer.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance.” He went back to eating, taking in what he could. There were five others in the tavern. Of course, Grian guessed that they were all the early risers of the group. _Well, if the others aren’t early risers, they’ll learn soon,_ he mused with an arch of his eyebrow, still drinking.

One was a rogue, probably an assassin from the studded leather armour. One of his eyes was cybernetic, an unnerving electric blue, whilst the other was a green-hazel colour. His hair was short, dark, and straight, and he had a beard along the line of his jaw and a slight moustache. Scars darted across his pale skin, and he glanced towards Grian. When he did, his eye narrowed, and Grian glared right back at him.

There was another assassin there as well (chills ran up Grian’s spine at the fact there wasn’t one, but _two_ assassins on his group roster. He’d seen what a well-trained guild assassin could do, up close and personal. In years past, he’d even have to kill a few himself). This one had bright amber eyes, and his hood was pulled over his white hair despite the fact he was inside and not outside. His armour was thick, dyed black leather, made for stealth. A black mask hung over his nose, and his left eye had a darker scar beneath it. His whole outfit—a jacket with no sleeves, a fitted shirt, trousers, steel-toed military-style boots—was a series of black and greys.

Beside him sat a young druid woman, also in leather armour (there was a lot of leather armour for all the rookie adventurers, and some of the older ones as well. Grian himself had it because he was new to his class, and the light armour was a good idea anyways since he needed protection). A green longsleeve sat under the brown leather, and her pants were short and a pale pink. Her sandals were made of leather bands, comfortable and made for walking.

Either way, they’d be riding horses, Grian had looked at the city stables and noted the ones reserved for them in the roster. He knew that they were technically short six members, with three who might join them along the way and three empty spots. Either those members had died or quit, or they’d never been filled in the first place.

A bard sat in the corner of one of the rooms, although he wasn’t singing. Rather, he was writing, but from the looks the gnome barkeep occasionally sent him, Grian doubted the bard ever _had_ sung. It didn’t matter anyways. If he could fight, with or without his songs, then it was fine. With slightly longer, brown hair and brown eyes hidden behind large glasses with thin silver frames, the bard had a soft smile on his face. The case of an accordion sat beside him. A fancy, light blue doublet with white accents wrapped his shoulders, and a white dress shirt was beneath the doublet. Grey trousers and brown boots wrapped his legs. There was nothing too suspicious about him. If anything, the bard seemed…pretty harmless. _But that could easily mean he’s a lot stronger than I might think…_ Grian mused, thinking slightly of himself as well. When he was younger, people believed he was harmless, too. He’d shown them anything but.

Finally, there was a thickset dwarf man, with dark, almost black hair and pale blue eyes. His hair was long, braided on both sides, and his skin was pale. He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, as if deciding that he should have gone with something _other_ than leather armour.

Turning back to his drink and food, Grian shoved a hunk of meat in his mouth and followed it with some cheese, bread, and a swig of ale.

He wasn’t expecting anything, simply continued to eat and go through what the schedule for the day was. They needed to wait until the rest of their party made their way down. Although, as he watched the gnome start tottering up the stairs, Grian supposed that the other members might be experiencing a rude awakening soon.

As the gnome left the main room, a warlock walked inside. Well, really, he stumbled down the stairs, nearly eating it on the wood floor. With a scoff, False rolled her eyes and went back to eating some of the food she’d bought. Laughing nervously and glancing around, clearly embarrassed, the man glanced around and then made his way over to the bar. “H-hello. Are you a-a-a part of the White Lion tavern group?” He stammered out, and Grian glanced at him, then shrugged.

“I am. Are you?”

Fumbling for the insignia, the man showed it off. Grian glanced him up and down quickly. _Blue robes, leather armour underneath, white shirt, brown trousers. Riding boots, scuffed up and old. Clearly someone from a small town, journeyed quite a bit before arriving here. Nervous stutter, probably doesn’t stammer so much when he’s in a situation he’s comfortable with. It’s not bad, won’t interfere with too much. Middle-aged, spiky brown hair and matching eyes, tanned skin so he’s not from a rich family. Probably an artisan…_

“Grian. I’m an Arcane Trickster.” Tilting his head to the side, Grian asked, “You’re a warlock? So…Jonah Johnson?”

“Ah, call me Bdubs. A nickname my daughter gave me.” Holding a hand out and smiling broadly, Bdubs waited until Grian took his hand and then shook it. His grip was firm, palm and fingers calloused. He’d worked before, and worked hard. _Probably a team worker as well. Humble. Good person to work with._ False scoffed in the corner, but TFC strode forward and shook Bdubs’ hand as well.

At the meeting, the other members of the party currently sitting in the tavern dining room came over. The gnome returned, eyes gleaming mischievously after he had clearly pranked the other members to wake them up. The man with the cybernetic eye was Iskall. His fellow assassin was Etho, and Etho’s druid friend called herself Stress. From the faint greenish tones to her skin, Grian guessed Stress may have had some nymph ancestry. Meanwhile, the bard was Joe, and the dwarf was named Baern Battlehammer. Everyone stared at him except for TFC, who repeated it perfectly, so Baern added that they could just call him Beef.

The rest of the party gradually filtered in, some wide-awake and others…not so much. All of a sudden, Grian found himself thankful for a slightly smaller group. Less names and faces to remember (and get connected to, he supposed). There was a druid with a mysterious, unlicensed person wearing an intricately carved helm. The helm had a clear visor, and Grian could see a hint of their eyes but nothing more about them. If he squinted, he guessed that he could see some bangs hanging down in front of his face. The druid’s name was Keralis, and his friend was Xisuma. While Keralis had leather armour and earth-toned clothing (boots, trousers, a shirt, and a loose jacket), Xisuma had nothing but his helmet.

There was one other druid beside Keralis and Stress. Her name was Cleo, and she looked…pretty weird. A sort of cloying smell of flowery perfume surrounded her, and one of the rangers accompanied her. Of course, he might have been her bodyguard. After all, Cleo’s skin was a pale green colour, and she had fiery red hair that fell around their shoulders like the red fire-moss of the Catharian Swamps. Which were close to the Catharian Acid Wastes and Lakes. Bright eyes the same azure colour as the sky met Grian’s and she smiled softly. Clinging to Cleo’s thin, almost deathly-thin frame was simple leather armour, a black and white striped shirt that fell off of her shoulders, black leggings, a black skirt with some tears on the side, and black boots. There was a small smattering of darker green freckles across her nose and beneath her eyes. Stitches scrawled across one of her arms, almost like it had fallen off and then had to be reattached. Grian supposed she was cute, although he wasn’t here for romance and never would be.

Her friend, the hunter, was Ren Fleet. Ren was a broad-shouldered human, with shaggy brown hair, dark eyes that Grian couldn’t quite figure if they were dark gold or brown, and tanned skin. A quiver sat beside a longbow on his back, and two steel shortswords sat in their scabbards at his hip. He had two leather packs, one that was his and one that was probably Cleo’s, slung over one shoulder. When Ren smiled, Grian swore that his canines narrowed into slightly sharper points than they should have. He was probably in his early to mid-thirties.

Then there was the only wizard of the group was Scar. Like, legitimately, his _name_ was Scar. He wouldn’t tell them anything other than that, apparently implying that he wasn’t going to elaborate. Grian could respect that—after all, he wasn’t about to spill _his_ secret to everyone. Scar was a young man in his twenties, around Grian’s age. The thin pink scar wasn’t his only defining factor. In his right hand, his twisted staff also functioned as a cane. Whether it was an old injury or something else, Grian couldn’t tell, but there was a bright energy to Scar’s green eyes and he ran a hand through his short brown hair before replacing his wizard’s hat on his head. A white shirt sat beneath his robes, which were the same faded, slightly gaudy purple as his robes. He didn’t have any armour either, just his boots and his belt being the any leather on him. A book was quite literally hooked to his belt—he’d opened it and then pushed it onto his belt with little care. From the cover, Grian guessed it was a spellbook of some sort. The hilt of a dagger poked out of his pack as he rifled around in it, chatting amicably with the wood elf beside him.

Speaking of the wood elf, that was their artificer, Mumbo. For a wood elf, Mumbo was freakishly tall, almost the same height as Ren and one of their fighters. Straight black hair sat beneath a small brimmed cap, and he tipped a finger against the brim as he sent a soft smile False’s way whilst introducing himself. Clearly, he had some semblance of how to greet nobility first, although Mumbo’s oil-spattered, rough around the edges look and what Grian was pretty sure was the scorched remains of a moustache on his upper lip sort of…messed with it just a bit. His eyes were a lovely dark hazel, and there was a scrape on his cheek, red against his otherwise pale skin. He had a pack of his own, and some leather armour, but very little other protection. All his clothes were dark tones, obviously because of the amount of oil spattered across his skin. Sitting on his shoulder was a tiny mechanical pseudodragon with bright red eyes.

Then there was one of the other rogues, a thief (something the “highly moral ones” had turned up their noses at, which immediately gave Grian the sense they had never suffered a day in their life, and the young man hardly seemed _proud_ of the profession). The young man went by the name of Impulse. Bright golden-yellow scales glittered underneath Impulse’s eyes, and where his skin disappeared beneath his cloth jacket, his leather armour, and a white shirt, Grian could see even more. He had a lot of layers on, maybe more than he possibly could have needed in the mild weather of Tevourn. Smoothing a hand over his short brown hair, Impulse turned to the two others he had made friends with, around his (and Grian’s) age.

Impulse’s friend was Zedaph. Much like Impulse and his other buddy, Zedaph appeared completely normal. The pointed tips of his ears and the bright violet shade of his eyes showed otherwise. He was at least half-elf, and he was a bard. As if he had to prove this, Zedaph excitedly pulled out his little ocarina and showed it off to everyone. A rapier sat on his hip in its scabbard, and he had delicate little purple marks drawn around his eyes and the beginnings of a tattoo on his neck. His shirt matched his eyes, although a couple shades darker, and his boots and trousers were both black.

And then there was Tango. Immediately, he introduced himself as Tango Nowhere, a tiefling. Immediately, the revelation simmered across the whole group. Several of them leaned away, while the Cryor cleric leaned closer with interest sparking in his living eye. Tango looked almost human, with pale peach skin, blond curls, and no horns. Then, Grian spotted the tail trailing behind him on the floor. There was an ornate golden cuff on it, and he added quickly that he was an Arcane Trickster. The cuff matched his shirt colour, and he had brown trousers and leather boots. His eyes were a bright, almost ruby red, and when he grinned they lit up with a devilish light.

Then they came to the Cryor cleric, who introduced himself as Doc. Of course Grian knew he was immediately a Cryor, there was the distinct mottled green tones to his skin. This one was different, though. One of his arms was cybernetic and one of his eyes was cybernetic and red. Short black hair covered his living side, and his normal eye was black as well. Thin leather armour sat beneath a long white dress shirt with pockets at the front. Black trousers sat at his hips, along with a pack, and he had matching boots.

Following that was Cub, a massive fighter whose real name was Caden Black. A longsword and a shield were braced to his back, and he had chain mail on. His boots were metal as well, he had bracers on his arms, and a firm look on his face. His hair was the same mid-toned brown as grizzly fur in the summer, and his eyes had the dark blue of tundra rivers. His skin, tanned in some areas, was pale in others and scarred. One long scar dodged down underneath the collar of his breastplate.

On the opposite side of the spectrum was a little lightfoot halfling with short, dark hair, a matching beard, a broad grin that stretched across his face, and dark eyes as well. His skin was a pale, sandy tawny colour and he wore scale mail with leather boots. A longbow and quiver much like Ren’s were slung across his shoulders and back. Two small shortswords dangled from the scabbards at his hip, and he grinned up at them all before deciding it was okay to scrabble up Cub’s shoulder. Clearly, they knew one another, and he perched atop the fighter’s shoulder calmly.

Then came the monk, who Bdubs had to introduce. Apparently, the young man was mute, from what the pair explained. The human was perhaps in his thirties, a little order than some of the others but still fairly young. He had no armour, dressed in all-black and grey scarves and garb. Another was tied around his head, hiding his hair. His eyes were dark, too, but Grian couldn’t tell if they were dark grey or black or brown. Smiling broadly and signing, Hypno kept up a conversation with Bdubs the whole time. As he did, the scarves around his throat slid down slightly, exposing the edge of what looked to be a long, thin pink scar across his throat.

Taking a breath, Grian quickly tried his best to ignore the mark, instead turning his attention to the last two members of their group.

Both were blond young men with blue eyes. One, Jevin, was beginning to turn into a Visho, half his face beginning to melt into the race’s slimy form. Jevin’s was a pale blue tone, and the transformation was already too far along for any magical interference. He still wore the chain mail of his rank, two longswords on his back and a pack between them. He didn’t speak much, either.

Finally, there was Wels. Also blond, also once a knight (although Jevin was now a fighter from what he claimed). Clothed in chain mail with a holy symbol that Grian didn’t recognise—an amulet with a strange mark in the middle of it. A longsword and a shield were strapped to his back, and he spoke even less than Jevin did.

_Being blond, of few words, and blue-eyed must be a prerequisite of becoming a paladin,_ Grian scoffed, finally finishing off his mug. By then, their gnome barkeep had left and the tavernmaster had arrived. The tavernmaster was a wood elf by the name of Vadan Liadon, with green eyes and black curls, outfitted in a simple brown shirt, matching pants, and a white apron tied at their waist. “Alright,” they began, green eyes darting over everyone, “who’s the leader of your group?”

The group of twenty-four all glanced between one another. Their three missing members—Biffa, Python, and Jess—had sent letters ahead, claiming to be capable of meeting them at Alvarin, Hullenbráck, and Mora Phos respectively. It’d be several weeks’ journey there, but they were paying for their own mounts and the like. “I…don’t think we really _have_ a specific leader.” Stress mused with a shrug, and TFC cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“I don’t care if you’re leader or not. Most of you have been lovely, but I’d like to have my rooms back. To get to the Westerwall stables, you’ll want to walk out into the street. The north will be to your left. You’re going to go left, walk three blocks, turn to the right at the fountain with the weird mer-goat, and then keep going until you reach the edge of the woods. That’s Westerwall there, give them this insignia. They’ve got horses, military saddles, bits and bridles, and saddlebags for those of you who need them. I know _some_ of you don’t. Should take you about an hour or so to reach it, it’s only about four miles from here.”

“Thank you. May the World Maker bless you.” Bdubs said as they all packed up and left. False and TFC led the way through the streets. As they walked, Scar used his staff to help him walk, and Grian fell in behind him. They sort of managed to find their own groups already. False and TFC were in the lead. Cub, xB, Doc, and Beef were right behind them. Etho and Stress had fallen in with Joe, Hypno, and Bdubs had fallen in after that group, talking excitedly with one another in a flurry of both hands and words. Then it was Grian, Scar, and Mumbo (who was working on one of his little mechanical things). Following them, Impulse and Zedaph and Tango joked and laughed, the sound echoing off the high walls of the two-story homes around them. Keralis and Xisuma were following, then Iskall, then Jevin and Wels, and finally Ren and Cleo.

About twenty-five minutes into the journey, the talking began. “So…why are you guys part of the adventuring business? Just feel like joining for the heck of it?” Scar asked, glancing between them and huffing ever so slightly as he moved. Either he wasn’t used to so much walking, or he had some issue with his lungs.

Scar and Mumbo both looked to Grian, and he paused before looking up at the sky, acting like he was trying to figure out how to word it. Really, he was trying to figure out a decent story that they might believe. _Just go with a little bit of honesty. A lot of people do what you are._ “I’m…looking for something. Some _one_ , actually.”

“A friend?”

Grian watched as two fluffy white clouds clashed together in the breeze overhead. “You could say that. What about you?” Grian met his green eyes and Scar glanced away.

“I…it’s a long story. An…acquaintance of mine helped me with my magic and told me that, one day, I would need to come here and go on this quest.”

“That specific?” Mumbo asked, looking up from his current project. Spindly mechanical arms sprouted from his backpack, one holding out a book, another a flashlight that was currently turned off, and a third had a tray of his tools. Flicking up his glasses, which could zoom in and out, the wood elf continued after Scar nodded. “Wow. That’s…kind of impressive.”

Scar shrugged, then grinned at him. “So, Mumbo, what’s _your_ reason for coming along?”

Mumbo let out a stuttering laugh, looking back to his little project—a small coin with a fist that could clench a little lightning bolt. Setting his tools and the object down on the tray, he clicked a button and allowed everything to fold back up into his pack. Removing his glasses, he tucked them away and added, face flushed, “I…sort of…got lost? A couple decades ago, I decided I wanted to know how the world worked, left my home at…oh, gosh, twenty…three? I was following a river and some sprites and then I looked up and…I was lost. Really, _really_ lost, and really unprepared.”

Scar audibly winced. “Aw, geez man. I’m sorry.” Mumbo shrugged casually, looking to the side and shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I was the one who decided to wander off. I could have easily prepared much more. Now I’m just trying to get back home, I just don’t know where it is.” Tilting his head, he added, “Maybe one day I’ll find someone who does.”

They fell into silence, occasionally chatting about something else. Grian remained silent the whole time, still trying to decide whether or not to take this seriously or to take this some other way. By the time he decided that being friendly and getting along with the rest of his team would work in his favour, they had already arrived at the stables. TFC handed over the insignia paper, and the stablehands brought out their horses. “Oh! I better go grab mine.” Padding over to a red-brown horse with a white mane, tail, and a bright blaze down its face, Scar took the reins and tried to pay the stablehand. Holding up his hands, the young man politely refused and then went off to help False mount a light grey, almost white, mare with a darker mane and tail. Most of the horses matched Scar’s in pattern (paler mane and tail, red-brown coat), sorrel, or bay. Meanwhile, TFC, Wels, and Jevin went to fetch their own horses. Jevin swung into the saddle of a palomino gelding, Wels a blood bay charger decked out in half plate barding, and TFC nimbly hopped onto a dapple grey gelding with the ease of someone centuries younger. Cleo was helped into the saddle of a black mare by Ren, who ended up with a reddish roan gelding with a white blaze and matching marks about halfway up its lower legs. Keralis helped Xisuma onto a chestnut and white horse, then mounted one of the bays. Doc settled onto a mouse grey gelding, while xB was settled onto a dark brown pony. Now, most of them ended up on the other horses, except for Beef. Somehow, the dwarf had ended up on a massive buckskin draft. Not that he minded, nor did the horse.

Finally, they started off into the woods, hooves clicking on the cobblestones and then scattering little pebbles across the dirt path ahead of them. “Good thing it’s not snowing. Can you imagine trying to set off in the midst of a snowstorm?” Tango asked, rubbing his arms. At the front of the group, False glanced back. Just like in the city, they had fallen into the same travelling order.

Horses snorted, and Scar began talking about his cat, Jellie. Whether it was just from being nervous or to break the silence, Grian wasn’t sure. The conversation was nice, though. The company, too—it’d been years since Grian had— _No, no, you are_ not _getting attached. This is nothing more than a job for all of you, do you understand?_ He scolded himself sharply. Something snapped behind them, and he swore he heard something. When he looked, however, there was nothing around them but the foliage. A couple bees buzzed around their hive, and one flew over to Keralis before landing gently on the druid’s arm bracer. Lifting a hand, he gently stroked along its back and then held up his hand to let it fly away. It did, and Grian saw Xisuma raise his head to watch it through his visor.

“—so I’m trying to make sure that Shelah doesn’t come in the door, Jellie’s still got her head stuck in the tube, and then I have a choking dog wetting itself on the carpet. And then—”

“ _What_ are you _talking_ about?” Scar turned to look at Impulse, Zedaph, and Tango. The tiefling was the one who had asked, red eyes wide and a distinct grin on his face. Grinning right back, Scar started right over with the story.

They rode on until the sun was starting to lower in the sky. From Grian’s guess, they had gone about twenty miles from the city, but they were still deep in the forest. There was no sign for a city, town, or even a village. Eventually, the group came to a clearing in the woods. “Alright.” TFC took the reins of his gelding and spun it to the side, speaking to the whole group. “Let’s stop for the night and set up camp while there is still daylight. The horses need a rest, and we need to get used to one another or else this will not work. We are three days’ journey from Alvarin, and we’ll pack up and move out around eight tomorrow. Set up your tents, take care of the animals. We’ll decide everything later.”

Since no one really had any protests, they all set about exactly that. Once the tents were all set up, Keralis and Xisuma went about starting a fire for the night, casting the area around them in a warm golden glow as the dusky shades of twilight settled around them all. Keralis said something to Xisuma, then went to go collect firewood. Scar, meanwhile, was busy caring for his horse, grooming it. Grian went about doing the same, and the gelding snorted and nosed at Grian’s shoulder. “I don’t have anything for you, sorry.” He mused, tying the horse to the branch of a nearby tree. Most of the horses were tied to branches around the area, quickly being cared for and stripped of their barding and saddles for the night so they could relax as well. Doc was already sitting down, as were xB and Beef, by the fire, talking with Xisuma. The young man didn’t reply for most of it, at least until Keralis came back. False and TFC were talking by their tent, and Ren and Cleo were still trying to set up their own.

From what Grian could tell, Cleo had probably never set up a tent before. Ren kept showing her stuff, and she watched with fascination on her face. When she copied him correctly, she did a little cheer, and he clapped her on the shoulder a few times before turning back and setting up the rain cover on top of the tent.

Impulse, Zedaph, and Tango were apparently going to try and all pile into the same tent. Apparently, they got along like wildfire in a dry forest in the midst of summer. The only thing that mattered was whether a two-person tent could fit three _and_ their stuff as well.

Etho had walked off into the woods to do something, although Grian could see him and Stress returning with firewood in their arms. Obviously, they set the wood down by the fire, then joined the conversation. Hypno appeared from his tent, Bdubs and Wels and Jevin beside him. Joe and Iskall had returned with filled waterskins from a nearby river. Finally, Mumbo was struggling just a bit with his tent.

Sighing as he finished brushing his gelding, Grian looked at Scar. “Should we help him?” He asked, smiling softly, and Scar followed his gaze. Yelping, Mumbo went tumbling and they both looked at each other.

“Definitely.”

So they went and helped, and Scar immediately found the problem. Apparently, Mumbo had mixed up one of the poles for the diagonal with the one for the rain tarp, which was a pretty easy fix. As they went about fixing the tent, Grian swore he heard something as he glanced around.

Frowning, he straightened up and then looked around. The shadows beyond the trees hid almost everything, but he saw a glimpse of amber eyes. Some sort of medium-sized…

“Guys, we’ve got monsters!” He shouted, just as the first beast emerged from the shadows and lunged for his face, snarling.

+++

Deeper in the woods, a brown wolf with a white chest and left hind leg watched quietly.

None of the party’s members were able to notice it. Meanwhile, the pack of wolves attacking them ignored it. The wolf could see them, but they could not see the wolf, and that was how it liked it. It would not participate in the battle, simply observe, with sharp dark brown eyes.

The first wolf attacked a blond, human-looking young man. Sharp fangs dug down into his shoulder and he yelled in pain, flailing for a moment before falling back. Snarling, the wolf, a tawny juvenile, let go and bared its teeth menacingly. Quickly, it retreated to its own little group. Tail flicking, the brown wolf in the shadows settled down beneath a bush and tilted its head to the side. The wizard and the artificer both fumbled for their weapons, taken aback by the sudden surprise. The blond produced a rapier, prepared for a fight. Meanwhile, the tawny wolf and the others in its group lunged. One bit at his leg, skidded in the dirt, and the blond jumped back before slashing with a sword. The next one dodged, bit down on his leg, and the young man cried out as he went down, dropping to his knee. Darting forward, a small grey wolf charged at the wizard, missed as well, and he yelped while grabbing his stick and accidentally smacking it in the nose. A sixth launched onto his back, bit down hard on his shoulder and snarled. Grabbing at its head, the wizard yelled in pain. The last wolf darted for the wood elf, who scrambled back with a yell and then kicked it in the face.

On the other side of the camp, seven more wolves attacked the ranger and his green-skinned friend. Screaming, she ducked around the tent as the first wolf charged. Before it could get there, the ranger grabbed it by the scruff and threw it to the side. A second wolf with thick black fur leapt onto his shoulder, snarling, but he snarled almost ferally right back at it and threw it off. The beast’s fangs glanced off of the thick armour, and it growled as it hit the ground.

“Stay away from her.” He growled, and an approaching wolf skidded to a stop in the dirt. Snarling, it pinned its ears back and bared massive, yellowed teeth. When his friend screamed, grabbing at a wolf holding onto her arm. “Hey!” Before he could react, one of the wolves charged over and bit down on his arm when he reached for her. Bellowing, the ranger grabbed at it. As another wolf charged for the young woman, she squealed and kicked it in the face, scrabbling for her weapons as the other wolf let go of her. A small brown one charged forwards, slipped on some leaves, and fell flat on its face.

One of the druids, older than the others, jumped forwards. As he moved, his form changed to that of a sturdy black mastiff. He clamped his jaws around the neck of a grey wolf that had lunged for a young man with a helmet. “Don’t hurt Keralis!” The young man shouted, drawing two daggers.

Meanwhile, a Cryor pulled out a light crossbow and aimed for the wolf in the mastiff’s jaws. He fired a bolt, but it nicked the wolf’s ears. Snarling, it kicked at the mastiff in the face and forced him to release it. A fighter darted forwards, longsword in hand, and slashed at the beast. The blade caught it in the stomach. Roaring, the wolf stumbled back, blood dripping from a deep gash in its ribs. The fighter grinned, eyes narrowing, as he pulled back.

As the wolf stumbled to the side, another—the wolf that had jumped forwards to try and attack. Before it could, a tiefling without any horns, brandishing a rapier, darted forward. The blade pierced through the lunging wolf’s flank, and it yelped sharply. Dropping to the side, it limped with its tail between its legs to the other wolves. Grinning, the tiefling tipped his head to the side and laughed heartily, then looked to the others. “Come on, which puppies want to play?”

Snarling, a large white wolf charged the two high elves at the edge of the clearing. It leapt for the older one, teeth open. Stepping to the side, he pulled out an orb and let magic start dancing along the edges. The other six wolves attempted to mob them both, and the older elf swept their legs out beneath them all.

Back by one of the tents, a warlock waved something in the air, spoke quickly, and then focused on one of the approaching wolves, a little grey thing missing an eye. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, the wolf started making an odd noise like barking laughter, and the warlock frowned. “Work fast, we only have a minute!” He warned quickly, then turned back to concentrating.

One of the paladins nodded, darting forward and drawing his longsword. Slashing it up, he carved through the laughing wolf. It stumbled to the side, coughing once, and then slumped to the side, dead. Turning, he nodded to their warlock and the warlock nodded back before summoning more magic to his hand. An assassin with a cybernetic eye threw a dagger at one of the other wolves attacking the ranger and the druid, hitting it in the side of the neck. Dropping to the ground, the wolf went limp.

Hidden in the bushes, the wolf rose to its feet, prepared to step in if need be.

The halfling shot another one of the wolves, leaving an arrow protruding from its eye. Head jerking back, the wolf dropped to the ground. Some of the others fled, limping away, and the white wolf that had attacked the high elves glanced around before snarling viciously. Tilting his head to the side, the elf cast a spell and lightning struck the wolf, killing it immediately.

Two of the other members—a young rogue with short brown hair and a blond with purple eyes—fought quickly side by side as some wolves attacked them. Fangs bit down on the former’s shoulders and he screamed and twisted, ducking to the side and slamming the wolf into the dirt. It huffed, and his friend stabbed one of the wolves in the stomach with a rapier as it lunged to him, throwing it away. Some of the other wolves fled immediately, tails between their legs. A wolf lunged at the monk, who kicked it in the ribs. It went flying, smacked into a tree, and then fled into the woods.

Another assassin, with white hair, snarled at the wolf that faced off with him, and it turned and fled immediately. The wolf hiding in the bushes flicked an ear, sniffing the air above it. A distinct smell of fox lingered, hints of undead and feathers underneath, and the wolf shook its whole body and then settled down in the leaf mould again.

The fight continued, only lasting about fifteen minutes at most for them all. By the end of it, several of the party members were exhausted, lying on the ground. The wolves had either fled or been slaughtered, and the wolf slowly got to its feet. Licking its chops, it looked up at the branch above its head. A white dove was perched on a low branch. Leaping up, the wolf snapped its jaws around the bird, killing it instantly, and then dropped to the ground.

Looking down at the bloodied body, the wolf picked the bird up in delicate jaws, looked at the party, and then walked into the deeper shadows and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you couldn’t tell already, for the sake of writing, some of the ages have been changed to work. For instance, I’m sure False is not actually over a hundred years old, TFC is not five hundred, and that Beef is not a dwarf. Also, all the comments made in this about anyone are solely D&D Grian’s opinion, not my own. I like the purple robes (I do think that Cleo’s got a nice aesthetic, though, I won’t lie).   
> Also, originally, I did write the battle scene with initiative and different battle moves that people would have according to their classes, but I worried it’d get too boring and instead decided to write it like an awesome fight scene with the weapons and magic that they had and I could think of.   
> Anyways, thank you for reading. This chapter is both longer and shorter than I expected, and I decided that wrapping it up with the mystery wolf was a good idea. Uh…yeah. That’s basically it. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope that you enjoyed this and that you have a great day. Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	5. II: The Shield of Thylama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hermits arrive in Thylama, and immediately run into trouble. Which is great, you know, they totally wanted this kind of thing to deal with before they’re even a real team. But they can handle this.  
> Oh, and Grian has a weird dream that might be doom and gloom for all of them, according to some random tiefling on the side of the road.  
> Totally normal, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs should be listed in tags. If I missed anything, let me know and I will update the tags as soon as possible. These little episodes might come out on a weekly basis, it really depends on how much I can work on them and how much I think they’ll work. This is still the first arc of the story (but I have at least fifteen chapter spots opened after this one).   
> Additionally, yes, at least one of the remaining three (Biffa, Python, and Jessassin) will be a barbarian. We have literally every other class except for barbarian, of course I’m going to have one of them be a barbarian.   
> Just a note because I believe I made a mistake in the prologue or chapter one—Joe has an accordion and Zedaph has an ocarina. I think I mentioned Joe as having a guitar or something. (Although he can use other instruments, and Zedaph may be capable of it as well, but I’m not sure yet.)  
> Uh…just a warning for the ending of the chapter, it gets kind of violent. Not super violent, but just…excuse the language, but Thylama is a bag of dicks. Take that as you will.   
> Uh…since I can’t think of anything else, let’s jump into this!

“Alright, Grian, you’re going to be alright. Just stay still.”

Still lying on his back, he stared up at the top of his tent. Cool hands, Doc’s, pressed against his shoulder where the wolf first bit him. His other injuries had been fixed as well, and he took a few breaths through his nose. The wolves had done quite a bit of damage to him, and he wasn’t the only one. Impulse, Cleo, Ren, and Scar also needed help. For the moment, the others were trying to patch them all up.

A warm thrum spread through his chest, and he took a deep breath as a small spoke of pain wheeled out through his ribs. Still leaning over him, Doc bit his lower lip, showing off small fangs. “Sorry, sorry.” He murmured, usually clipped tone suddenly disappearing.

Glancing at him, Grian scoffed lightly and asked, “This is the first time you’ve done this kind of thing, isn’t it?”

Doc’s two-toned eyes darted to him and then back to where he was working. A faint, green glow came from Doc’s hands, wrapping up his arms almost like tattoos even where they disappeared beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. “Not really. Just…never seen a wolf bite before.”

“They were pretty big for wolves.” Letting his head roll to the side, Grian looked out at the others. Scar was bandaging his own injuries, sitting on one of the logs by the fire as it crackled in the pit. A soup was sitting over the orange flames, and Jevin threw some spices in before stirring it and then taking a small spoonful. Nose scrunched, the half-Visho tipped his head from one side to the other and then nodded. Turning to Scar, he said something, and Scar’s belting laugh echoed into the tent. “Seems like Scar’s made friends with pretty much everyone. Has he told you his life story yet?”

Shrugging, Doc replied, “Mostly he talked about his cat, Jellie, but yes.”

“What do you think about cats?”

“Not really a huge fan of ‘em. Probably just a Cryor thing, the two species don’t always get along.” The glowing faded away, and so did the vague burning sensation in Grian’s chest. Leaning back, Doc clapped his hands together and then wrinkled his nose at the flecks of blood smattered on his fingertips. Turning back to Grian, he said, “Well, I think you’ll survive the night. Come on, let’s go get dinner, alright?”

Nodding, Grian pulled himself upright with Doc’s help. The two left the tent, and Grian took a deep breath. Part of him was just happy he was alive and that he hadn’t had to expose his wings. As far as the group knew, as far as the government knew, as far as _anyone_ living knew, Grian was a human.

He would prefer to keep it that way.

+++

_It was always the same end to the nightmare._

_Sure, sometimes things would change. Sometimes, he could walk through his town, talk to his parents. Sometimes he had the chance to say goodbyes to friends. Others, he got there in time to see Taurtis get an arrow through the back of the head and die, or watch as his mother died in his father’s arms before he was thrown to the side and knocked out. Always, always, he died at the end and woke up in a cold sweat._

_But this time, something was different about the dream._

_The sky was the same dark vermillion as it had been the day it happened, when the heavens blazed red with the blood of his people and the smoke from his home. Thick grey clouds smothered everything, charcoal and smoke cloyed the air. Wings aching with the memories of bone snapping and an immense weight crushing down on his back and hips, trapping him for days with no more company than dust and skeletons, Grian stumbled through the remnants of his home and looked around. There was an arrow in his left shoulder—sometimes it was there, other times it was just the jagged scar from where it’d been ripped out. Pressing a hand over the injury, he took a few shaky breaths and felt a few hot tears make their way down his cheeks. Rubbing the back of an ash-darkened hand across his face, he dropped to his knees on the baked clay in front of his childhood home._

_Blinking, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember how it had looked the day before. Sobbing, he clutched at his chest and at the arrow wound. The image of it burning had been branded on his mind. It had been ever since the burning had happened, when—_

_“Grian!” Turning, he scrambled away from the man with the cybernetic turquoise eye._ No, no, this isn’t—this hasn’t happened before—this isn’t right— _his mind screamed, and he felt dirt on his hands. Suddenly, the world around them changed to thick, blood-soaked mud, and he gagged on the taste of it in his mouth. Tilting his head to the side, Iskall asked, “What’s wrong? You look scared.”_

_A blade smashed into his hand, right between two of the bones of his fingers. Howling in pain, Grian tried to yank his hand back, but the knife had pinned his hand to the ground. Glowing, amber-brown eyes met his and a shock of white hair over a black mask swarmed his vision. “Come on, little bird. It’s just a game. You don’t have to scream like that.”_

_Etho twisted the knife, and Grian shrieked again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lifted both his hands—Etho’s knife was gone, that should have been the first sign he wasn’t actually there—to cover his head. Cool air rushed around him, and he opened his eyes once more. This time, he was in a sort of antechamber, tall with dark blue stone walls around him. Panting, he stumbled to his feet and looked around._

_Chest heaving, Grian unfolded his wings and wrapped them around himself, aware of the brown and mahogany toned feathers he was shedding with every step. It was stress, happened a lot of the time. Biting his lip, he glanced around and saw a beam of light coming down from the ceiling, a soft blue. It fell onto some sort of raised pedestal, with two elegantly curved white staircases on either side of it. The whole place seemed shrouded in moonlight, although he only saw bright white when he looked up through where the shaft of light vanished into a star-shaped hole. Cool tiles were beneath his feet (_ when did I take my shoes off?) _. The air was cool, with the slightly damp taste of an underground cavern or river._ But the light…

_Walking up the staircase to the left, Grian let one of his hands land on the bannister. Small swirls of what appeared to be frost trailed along the area, and he blinked a few times before peering closer. The whole staircase was a form of an architectural masterpiece. Or…maybe that was the wrong word, he wasn’t sure. Either way, the railing was a pale, almost icy blue, like a dark elf’s eyes. Unique curves and magical symbols wrapped around each post, and he took a shaky breath of the chilly air (he was cold now, he’d been hot moments before)._

_It wasn’t until he was at the top of the staircase that he realised his legs had begun to freeze._

_Staring at the pale blue frost making its way up to his knees, Grian turned to what sat atop the pedestal. He was fine, it was just a dream. Nothing more than a dream. He was fine._

_In the middle of the pedestal—although he supposed it was really a platform—there was something on a lectern in the middle. The lectern itself was made of what appeared to be crystal, copper sulfate if he had to guess. The vibrant, almost neon blue was so distinct it was impossible not to recognise. At the edge facing where he’d been moments before, the lectern had a curve like the edge of a glacier, arching over the book that sat upon it._

_No, wait—it wasn’t a book._

_As Grian got closer, the air kept dropping in temperature. However, he could_ just _see what was on top of the lectern. When he realised what it was—not just the object itself, but the_ name _—his heart stuttered to a stop for a moment._

_It was a crown._

_No, it was_ the _Crown._

_For all intents and purposes, the Cursed Crown was rather plain. A thin circlet of rose gold that arced up at the front, it was almost something one would expect to see on a princess or a prince. Certainly not something with such a bloodied history. The thing that had caused one war after another, an ancient gift (or really an ancient curse). As Grian got closer, he felt the ice slowly start to creep up his body. It was over his hips now, walking was hard and he could no longer feel his feet._

_At the front of the circlet, the Crown’s centrepiece—a star-shaped diamond that had come from the deepest recesses of the mountains belonging to the dragonborn tribe of Clethtinthiallor, called the Eye of Temerre—glinted almost knowingly. Breath shallow in his chest, both from the cold and shock, Grian reached for the circlet. The gem gleamed a deep amethyst colour, beautiful and mesmerizing and—_

**Enough!**

**** _Thunder cracked through the tower, and Grian jerked his hand back to cover his ears. Doubling over, he sucked in a gasp and stared at the tiles below him as they cracked and shattered. But he didn’t fall. Rather, he remained in place, suddenly swallowed in darkness._

_Raising his head, he looked around. A bright light, golden and fiercer than the sun itself, shone down on him. Bracing a hand in front of it, Grian squinted and tried to look past it. “Who are you?” He shouted, without really meaning to._

_There was a low rumble, almost like a chuckle, and the light disappeared. Then, in a soft whisper, there was another voice. It was quieter than the breeze that accompanied it that played with his hair, easing the chill from his bones and melting the frost without leaving even a trace of it._ **You know who I am, but you do not remember. It will have to remain that way for a little while.**

_Whirling around, Grian tried to spot who it was. His vision had always been good—a species trait, although he’d had to hide it from the rest of the world in the past. It could get him killed. Despite his vision, though, he couldn’t see a_ thing _in the darkness. Only shadows. “What do you mean by that? Show yourself!” Shoulders shaking, he added, “Please?”_

**In due time, my robin. First, you must learn.**

_“Learn? Learn what?” He spun around once again, already feeling the morning approaching. “Hey! Come on, you have to give me an answer! Please!” Turning in a random direction, he began running._

He woke with a jolt.

Gasping awake and sitting upright, he glanced around and then at the sky outside. It was still the lavender and grey toned blue of early morning, before the sun had risen. _Great. Too many questions and not even one answer._ Rubbing at his mouth, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the flecks of drool there and then set about pulling on his jacket. Even if he were just going for a short walk, he didn’t want to risk someone seeing his wings by accident.

As he walked out into the morning, he glanced at Iskall and Etho’s tents and found himself thinking back to the start of his dream. Both of them _were_ assassins, but they were too close to his age. For them to have been there— _No, it’s not possible. They wouldn’t be allowed on that sort of mission even if they_ are _in the correct guild. They’re too young._ Shuddering again, he added, _Besides, they’d either recognise me or I’d recognise them, and I’d remember someone like_ them _from two miles away._

He went to his saddlebag and pulled out one of his flasks, greeting his horse quietly as he did. Taking a long swig of water, he wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve and looked around the camp. Beef and xB were standing guard on the other side by the trees. None of the others were awake. Glancing back at the saddlebags, Grian debated having something stronger and then decided against it. He’d probably run his mouth all day, and then he’d reveal some secrets, and then—shaking his head, he cut off that train of thought and began walking back to his tent, patting his horse’s flank as he left.

_It’s too early for this._

+++

Later that morning, the others all dragged themselves, stiff and aching, from their tents.

Wincing and stretching his shoulders, Scar limped over to the fire and slumped down by Grian. “I’m never going to get used to sleeping on the ground,” he mumbled in frustration. Jevin sat down by the coals, stirred them a little bit, and then started the fire up again. Pulling out some hunks of bacon and a pan when the flames were hot enough, Jevin tossed it on the fire and then began to pull out some other foods in—oats and some kind of syrup and dried berries. “What are you making, Jevin? That smells great.”

“Thank you. It’s breakfast for everyone. Granola and bacon.” Shrugging casually, Jevin mused, “I used to work in the barrack kitchens as a support cook. In Deltaran.”

“Oh, really?” Scar asked, leaning forwards and seeming more awake now that he could smell food. Iskall had emerged from the woods, carrying more waterskins with him. Settling down on the ground across from the others, the assassin handed over the waterskins to Jevin and nodded once at the thanks.

“Yeah. I clawed my way up from support cook to commanding officer.” Smiling at the memory, Jevin shook his head and then stirred the bacon and granola around. The sizzling of fat broke through the morning air and Grian glanced at the others as they made their way out and about. Cleo and Ren were taking down their tent already, and after a moment Grian decided he would probably have to do the same.

“Do you mind if I asked what happened?”

“Run-in with a mage.” Shrugging when Scar leaned away again, Jevin added, “Not your fault, I remember what the mage looked like. Besides, he’s dead and gone now. Can’t attack a group of knights and a commanding officer without getting strung up at the gallows.”

Getting up, Grian went to go take down his own tent.

After a few hours, they started along the road once again, falling into the same order as they had the day before. Scar was back to chatting about his cat, and the pranksters (that was the vibe that Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango gave Grian, so that was what he was going to call them) listened in to every single word. Up ahead, TFC and False were talking, and Cub, xB, Beef, and Doc were far enough behind that Grian guessed it had to be something private.

Holding the reins, he glanced up at the sky as it brightened with the sun rising up higher and higher through the white clouds. It wasn’t a bad day for a ride, nice and warm but not too hot or cold. The trees shaded the path in the perfect way. _It’d be a lovely day to fly,_ he mused, blinking a couple times. Reaching up, he wiped at the corner of his eyes and dryly half-laughed at the wetness on his fingertips. Whether he’d known or not, he had been crying.

Shaking the feeling off, he threw it away and shoved it deep down, forcing a smile on his face and laughing at Scar’s next joke.

+++

When they got to Thylama, the first thing Grian thought was that it was a very drab-looking town.

A grey barn with white trim sprouted from the midst of a field of pale tawny grain. There was a farmhouse, two-story with little dormers in the black roof and also white trim. The sides were made of wood panelling, painted a lovely pastel pink. There was a porch, and a cat was perched on the railing of it. The cat was a chunky dark brown tabby with a cream chest and muzzle. As they rode past on the dirt path, it stared at them. White wooden fencing, clearly having been redone in the past few years, lined the trail, but there were no animals in the pasture. Whether it was simply the off season or the farm animals weren’t there, Grian wasn’t sure.

They rode on, though, and as they got closer to the town Grian had a sinking feeling settle in his chest. It swelled up like a tsunami, when it hadn’t quite crashed down on the shore and was looming above the people’s heads. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and reassured himself he was fine.

“Grian, you alright?” A hand settled on his. Jumping, Grian jerked his arm away and stared at Scar, who looked at him with a wounded expression for a moment before turning away. “Sorry. You just…spaced out there for a second. I was worried.”

Smiling hesitantly, Grian replied, “It’s okay. I’m alright, thank you.” He took another breath and then looked away from the cat, saying, “Let’s just ride ahead, okay?”

“Okay. But if you want to stop…just let me know, okay?” Scar asked, and Grian nodded quietly. _He’s so nice for someone who only met me a few days ago…_ he mused, in a little bit of shock. As far as he could tell, it was just Scar’s personality. He was just a friendly person, playful even.

As they rode closer to Thylama, they came across more buildings that looked rather similar to the farmhouse they’d seen earlier. Most of the houses were in the same palette of pastel blues or yellows, or earth-toned browns and tans. They all had similar porches, similar roofs, with just enough difference so as to be different and homey instead of eerie. The dirt path shifted to cobblestones once again, and Grian looked ahead.

As soon as he did, his heart dropped to the saddle beneath him as the tsunami of dread crashed down on him.

The town hall was a large, three-story building with elegant arches on the eaves. The panels were painted a soft blue. Hedges with blue flowers ran around them and beneath the windows, flowers planted in boxes under every single one of the white-wood frames. The cobblestones led up to the white stairs on the porch. It had a certain kind or rural yet modern beauty, but Grian’s heart still stuttered in his chest. The town hall was right behind what had to be the town square, and on one side of the path there was what he supposed to be some sort of announcements board for the place. On the other, however, there was a large stone board with six wooden frames on it and a large gold plaque beneath. Part of the plaque had been graffitied. The wooden frames were some sort of birch wood, striped white bark on them. _No, no, no_ no…

In each of the frames, pinned by golden railroad spikes like some sort of macabre trophy, was a set of wings.

Riding closer and getting off of his horse, Grian walked up to the plaque and then read it. His chest shuddered a few times and he stared up at each set. There was a date on the plaque, and his fingers brushed against it. A decade before. “What is this?” Scar asked from beside him. In his throat, Grian’s words just…wouldn’t move. He couldn’t say anything.

“They’re Cy’Ratha wings.” Tango announced from his horse. His tail lashed and wrapped around his calf for a brief moment before unfurling. “The government called for a—a—”

“A culling.” Iskall continued, staring at the wings as he slid out of the saddle himself. Walking over, he touched one of the frames, the one furthest to the left. The pair were massive, old. As the sunlight bounced through onto the taxidermized wings, the feathers turned a pale violet colour instead of the original white.

Grian’s hand cupped over his mouth, and Scar glanced at him in concern before looking back over. “They’re so tiny.” He finally choked out, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. In front of him, the wings in the frame were small, shaped and coloured like a blue jay’s. When Scar looked at him, he finally said, “We had Cy’Ratha, in my village. A friend of mine…his family was Cy’Ratha.” Bdubs walked up on his other side, fingertips brushing the glass. “His little sister grew wings when she was six, due to some genetic thing.”

“Did they look like this?” Scar asked, and Grian shook his head.

“They’re the same size.”

Scar’s eyes widened, and Bdubs read off the plaque. “A warning to all of the…demons who dare enter this town.” The word “demons” was scratched out, instead replaced with “winged bastards”. Chest and wings aching at he looked at the other wings, Grian realised that this must have been a family of five and then another Cy’Ratha.

“The wings are all similar. They killed children and their parents, taxidermized their wings, and now they’re treating them like a _trophy_.” He snarled under his breath, the tense feeling in his chest giving way to something else. Hate, maybe. Taking a breath, he turned to TFC. “How long do we have to stay _here_?”

TFC paused to take a look at the supplies. “Two days at most. Let’s go find an inn, we don’t have to stay very long.”

“Good.” Casting a look at the board of wings, Grian spat, “I’m not interested in staying here for much longer.” He spun on his heel and then jumped back on his horse.

+++

The innkeeper took one look at Tango and then immediately said, “You’re not allowed to stay here.”

False’s face immediately contorted. For a moment, Grian thought she was going to complain. She probably wasn’t used to hearing the word “no”. “What do you mean by that?” She asked, and the innkeeper looked to her. The lady was a small human with blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun and dull brown eyes.

“Oh, _you_ can stay here. _They_ can’t.” She corrected, pointing at Bdubs, Doc, Scar, Jevin, Impulse, Keralis, Mumbo, Stress, Tango, Xisuma, Zedaph, _and_ Cleo. “They would…not be welcome.”

“Why not? They’re a part of the group.” False argued, and the innkeeper shrugged.

She indicated Bdubs and then Scar. “ _They_ are magic-users. Those three are druids. I don’t know what _that_ one is,” she pointed at Xisuma and then continued, “Cryor, Visho, and tieflings are _monsters_. _That_ one has dragon scales on his cheeks, so he’s a _freak_ ,” Impulse’s fingers jumped to his cheek and he looked away, face flushing. Meanwhile, Doc’s eyes narrowed and Jevin simply looked unimpressed. Tango didn’t even look shocked. “That one has purple eyes. And _that_ one is an artificer, which is as good as witchcraft as far as I care.”

“I’m a sorcerer.” TFC pointed out, and she glanced him up and down.

“You’re also an aristocrat from your clothes. _That_ one is probably crazy,” she pointed a long, knobbly finger at Bdubs, then looked at Scar, “and _he_ is some sort of scruffy two-bit charlatan.”

“How do you even get any business, you’re a jerk!” False snapped, then turned to TFC. “Seriously, maybe we should just leave.”

“Karen.” One of the innkeeper’s helpers coughed where he was cleaning a table. When Zedaph glanced at him, the young man shot a venomous glare right back. Leaning to the side, the blond grabbed Tango’s arm and looked at the others.

“Let’s just go. Please?” His eyes darted from TFC to False, and he almost looked like he was going to burst into tears. False’s blue eyes narrowed and she looked about to jump into fisticuffs with the woman on the other side of the counter.

“False.” Tango hissed, and she glanced at him. The whole tavern seemed to have their eyes on them. Grabbing Impulse as quietly as possible, Grian carefully moved the young man closer to the centre of the group. He glanced down once, but they didn’t make eye contact.

TFC stepped in as well. “Alright, fine. Come on, all of you. We’ll find somewhere to camp for the night and leave tomorrow.”

“Good riddance!” The young man who’d glared at Zedaph shouted behind them as they left the inn. False seemed about to reply, but TFC touched her upper arm and she looked at him.

“This is not the palace, you need to make sure you give them the benefit of the doubt.” He murmured to her. Taking a deep breath, she nodded once.

“Don’t worry, False. It happens all the time.” Tango said quietly, and she glanced over at him. Smiling reassuringly, he added, “Haven’t had rocks thrown at me yet.”

A kid threw a rock at them when they got to the marketplace.

Well, actually, _several_ kids did. Tango simply snapped some of them out of the air with his tail. The kids’ parents glared at them as they walked by, but Tango simply lifted his head and kept his gaze ahead. Zedaph grabbed at his wrist. In a moment, Grian saw Tango glance over at the young man and then intertwine their fingers. Ren blocked Cleo from the view of most of the villagers, flanking the party’s left, while Cub took up the right.

“I’ll buy some supplies from the market. False, Iskall, I want you two with me to help.”

“I’ll come as well.” Joe announced, and TFC glanced back and then nodded once. Turning back to the others, he continued.

“Ren, Cub, Beef, xB, Wels, and Etho, I want you to make sure everyone is alright once we find a place.”

Someone ran up. He was a young human, perhaps in his late twenties, with brown hair and blue eyes. Much like the innkeep, he was in fairly plain clothes—just a pair of brown trousers, a light beige shirt, and work boots. “H-Hello. Uh—do you need a place to stay? You’re part of—ah, one of the Cursed Crown groups, right?”

TFC glanced at the others, and Grian paused before glancing the man up and down again. “We are. Who are you?”

“Uh-ah, I’m David. Dai—Daid—David Scott. I—I own the farm out on the edges of town, my wife Shanna saw you pass by earlier.” Glancing at the inn and then the others, he added, “I’m guessing you need a place to stay. Sharon isn’t exactly known for…being nice to people who aren’t considered normal. We don’t have a lot of space in the farmhouse, but we have a pretty big barn and I know that’s better than being on the ground. Only if you don’t mind, of course, but—”

“Yeah, sure!” Tango immediately volunteered. Everyone glanced at him, then at one another, and then shrugged casually. Grian took a breath.

This wouldn’t be that bad, could it.

+++

For a barn, it was actually…pretty nice.

David and his family—his wife Shanna, his daughter Angel, and David’s mother Elizabeth—made dinner for them all. Yes, they had tried to stop them, but Elizabeth and David insisted. Speaking of Angel, Bdubs watched her rather softly the whole time, like he was thinking of a family of his own. He’d mentioned it a few times on the way to Thylama, but never in much detail.

Angel set down a plate of incredibly burnt toast and homemade applesauce in front of all of them, smiling broadly as she did. “I made you something!” She said happily, and Grian smiled back her before glancing at the others. David and Shanna exchanged a glance, and Grian glanced down at it. He’d eaten worse (which wasn’t saying much). Impulse had already shoved the toast in his mouth, and Tango and Zedaph shared a look before doing the same. As soon as Angel and Shanna were gone to pick up the rest of the food, David immediately started speaking.

“You don’t need to eat that.” Impulse looked up and met his gaze.

“Burnt toast and weird applesauce is nothing, I’ve eaten literal carrion before. Compared to that, this is gourmet.” Shoving a spoonful of the applesauce into his mouth, he added, “And the applesauce is actually good.”

False shoved her toast over to him and he took it. Meanwhile, everyone decided to ignore the fact that Impulse had eaten roadkill and then did the same (He was pretty happy about the toast, evidently, considering he ate any that was put in front of him). Joe, Keralis, and TFC had their own food, although Joe immediately started to look sick and TFC and Keralis both glanced at one another like they’d regret it afterwards.

The actual food did come along. Then Angel was obsessed with Tango’s tail, and David and Shanna tried to keep her away the whole time. Laughing, Tango mused, “It’s alright, she’s not doing any harm.” Flicking the tip of his tail up and away from her reach, Tango let it dip down again and again and then ruffled her hair with it. David and Shanna sort of relaxed, and then Shanna picked her daughter up and cuddled her close.

Once they finished, Jevin and Wels went with the family to go wash dishes. Everyone else took care of the horses and set up their bedrolls in the barn. “So…Impulse…carrion?” Glancing over his shoulder, Tango tilted his head to the side as they groomed the horses.

Chuckling, Impulse rubbed the back of his neck and mused, “It’s, ah…my parents died of the plague when I was really young. Probably like…ten?” He stroked the brush down his bay mare’s flank, continuing without looking at anyone. “My family…well, they…didn’t want a freak in the family, so…they decided they did not want me. So…I lived on the streets. Not proud of it, but stealing was the only way to eat on a daily basis. But, since I know how to steal…if someone else has the Cursed Crown,” he turned and met Tango’s gaze, eyes a little brighter, “then I can grab it.”

“That’s…pretty noble of you.” False mused, peering over her horse’s back. Laughing, Impulse shrugged once.

“We need to make sure to pay the family tomorrow. I’d say…four gold pieces for each night, half a gold for the horses.” TFC announced, and Scar started scribbling that down as he sat on his mare’s back. She was lying down in the hay already, and his bedroll was near her stall. “And we need to make sure we treat them nicely.”

“So…TFC, what did you and the others learn while you were out?” Bdubs asked, leaning against one of the stall gates as he closed it. His horse began nibbling on and playing with his hair, although he didn’t really seem to care because he just sort of smiled as the only way of noting it and then just…ignored it.

“Well, druids, artificers, and ‘magic-users’ are forbidden from practicing their class here. Magic-users meaning warlocks, sorcerers, wizards, the like. A druid like Stress, Cleo, or Keralis will be imprisoned for witchcraft and found guilty without even so much as a trial.” Ren began, dragging his nails along the grooves in the wood.

Leaning against the wood beside him, Cleo ran a hand through her hair and mused, “So they’re a bunch of jerks.”

“For lack of a stronger word, yes. We bought some supplies—they made us pay extra. But we should be able to leave tomorrow. Just pick up some of the supplies we ordered and then we should be good.”

“And then it’s on to Alvarin.” TFC finished, and everyone nodded.

They began to settle down for the night, and the lanterns were turned off. As he thought back across the day, Grian asked, “Hey, Bdubs?”

“Yeah, Grian?”

“Why did you look at Angel like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“You looked kind of…homesick. Do you have any daughters back home?” Bdubs laughed softly. Around them, Grian could sense the others were all tuning in as well. Except for maybe Cleo, who’d fallen asleep pretty much immediately.

“I do. Two, actually. Olivia and Adella.”

“Aw, those are cute names!” Stress volunteered, and Bdubs laughed.

“Yeah, they’re adorable. Total sweethearts.” Taking a breath, Bdubs said, “I haven’t seen them in a while. Probably only about a year.”

“What happened? Were you travelling?” Tango asked, propping himself up on one elbow and looking over. Grian could see his eyes glowing ever so slightly in the moonlight streaming through the windows.

“Oh, my patron—the World Maker—gave me the ability to see the future, so I went to the White Lion tavern and signed up to be a part of the group. Asked for it and everything. But I saw my family right before that.”

“How did you end up with _the World Maker_ as a patron?”

“Oh, I got eaten by a fish.”

“What?”

“And a hellhound. And an acid serpent. Three separate occasions.” Laying on his back, Bdubs sighed and then said, “The third time that he had to rescue me, he said he would give me power so long as I was okay with doing what he needed me to and okay with giving prophecies.”

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about now!” Scar said, sitting up. “I’ve talked with him, too! We met when I got my scar!”

“Really?” Bdubs must have sat up. “Wait, how many people have met the World Maker?”

Doc and Tango both responded positively. “Pretty sure I met him. I got eaten by a fish once, too.” Chuckling, Iskall added, “Maybe it was the same one.”

“Did you try to kill him?”

“No, but I was on a mission. It was after I got swallowed by the fish, he chewed me out while I was in its mouth and then it spat me back out.”

“I think I’ve met him, too.” Etho announced, and then grunted in pain. “Ow, Stress!”

“Go to bed!”

“Alright, fine!”

Bdubs got up and left at some point in the night, mumbling something Grian was pretty sure was a prayer for safety. Who it was for, he wasn’t sure. He was too tired to try and figure it out.

Rolling over, he closed his eyes and went back to bed.

+++  
“You need to get out of Thylama.”

Bdubs met David’s gaze as they stood outside of the barn. It was early morning, and the two were leaning against the north wall facing the house. “Are you sure?” He glanced back at where Angel was playing with Keralis, who’d changed to his panther form and was currently jumping around her as she laughed at the giant black kitty. “I don’t like Thylama, but Shanna and I…I’m not sure we could afford to move.”

“You have to leave. My patron is the World Maker.” David stared at him, eyes widening. “Yeah. He gave me the ability to…see the future, sometimes?”

“And you saw Thylama being destroyed?” When Bdubs nodded, David took a breath and then looked to his daughter. It was early morning, and the sun had risen above the mountains in the distance. The air was still chilly, and Bdubs pulled his jacket around him just a little more. “Wow. Well…” He took a breath, “You’re probably right either way. After what they did to Ben and Charlie…” Shaking his head, he mused, “Maybe should have left before then.”

The barn door slid open and both men watched as TFC emerged into the morning air looking like he hadn’t even slept. (Did elves sleep? Bdubs was pretty sure they did. Otherwise he felt kind of bad, Kira had told him he snored pretty loudly. As did the people he travelled with, although they were a lot less friendly with how they said it). In the elf’s hands was a bag of coin, and Bdubs immediately knew that it was the two-hundred and fifty gold pieces they had gathered the night before as payment for the stay in the barn. “You might want to use this.”

Taking the bag, David looked in and then looked up, eyes widening even further. “I can’t—we can’t take this from you.”

“It’s the least we could do, especially since you’d be leaving town.” Slowly, David nodded and then quietly thanked him. TFC shrugged. “Bdubs, False, Hypno, Beef, and I are going to be heading into town. We’ll stock up on some extra supplies while we’re gone. We’re leaving tonight, so I want you and the others to have everything packed up and ready to go. Tell Jevin to make a quick meal we can eat on the way. Alright?”

“Yessir!” With a light laugh, Bdubs tried to force his vision from his mind. The sight of the buildings burning as a dragon—the biggest he’d ever seen—towered over the mountains behind them blazed in his mind, and he shuddered again. If David and the family didn’t leave…well, he hated to think what might come of it all.

Turning, he decided to walk into the forest to try and pray that Thylama might be saved.

+++

When TFC left with False, Hypno, and Beef to pick up supplies from the market, Bdubs made sure that the others not only helped David and his family load their things into a cart and set off on their way,

“So, Bdubs,” Grian began, looking up as they cleaned the stalls. Meeting his eyes, the young man grinned and asked, “You got eaten by a fish? What was that like?”

“Wet. Not fun.” Laughing, Bdubs shook his head and added, “The sailors blamed me for the storm and decided it’d be okay to toss me overboard once they saw the giant fish coming. So they tied me up and chucked me to the darned thing once they saw it was close enough.”

“Dude…” Tango whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. “That’s messed up.”

“Eh, they’re pirates.”

“I was a pirate once and I never threw someone off a ship!” xB announced, and everyone looked at him as he stood on top of one of the horses. Crossing his arms, he noted, “I mean, sure, we threw a _few_ people off of a ship, but never because of something like a superstition. It was usually because they tried to murder someone.”

Rolling his eyes, Bdubs turned back to mucking out one of the stalls.

+++

They were eating dinner when it happened.

The door was kicked in, and guards started dragging them outside. “You’re under arrest for witchcraft!” One of them bellowed, and Grian fought back. Stress let out a cry of pain and one of the men threw her to the ground, towering over her.

“What did we do?”

“Let her go!” Ren snarled at the guards who held onto him and Cleo. Ripping away, he roared and the men backed off a little bit. Fingers flexing almost like claws, he stormed towards them and then snarled when the guard smacked the flat of his blade into Ren’s skull. He was slammed to the ground, and another roar left his throat.

Keralis glanced around, then yelled, “Etho!” Turning, Grian saw Etho appearing from the forest. “Etho! Stop!” The assassin skidded to a stop at the crest of the hill. The guards on top of Keralis tried forcing him to his knees, tried shouting over him. Jerking away, Keralis yelled something at Etho, and the young man’s amber eyes flickered over the whole group before he moved. One of the guards smashed the hilt of his sword into Keralis’ head. Slumping to the ground, Keralis went limp and Xisuma yelled in fear. One of the guards smashed him to the ground, pinning him there. Etho hesitated, and Grian’s eyes met his for a split second.

Turning, Etho bolted into the woods.

“Shoot him.” One of the guards ordered a young bowman. Taking aim, the man fired into the woods. Etho stumbled, glanced back, and then kept running, one hand clamped over the wound. “Go track him down. If you find him, break his neck, stab him until he’s dead, I don’t care. Don’t let him get away.” Some of the men jumped onto their horses and rode after him.

“Etho! Come back here! Coward!” Grian shouted after Etho, jerking against the guards holding him. “Let go of me!” His wings snapped against his spine, but he knew he couldn’t unfold them. Not here, certainly not after that gruesome display outside the city. Roaring, Ren snarled as the guards grabbed onto Cleo and Stress. Meanwhile, Keralis dangled limply from the guard’s arms and Xisuma was almost sobbing. “Let us go! We haven’t done anything!”

His head was smashed into the ground, and he grunted in pain. As he laid there in the dirt, Grian heard the head guard shouting, “You are under arrest for witchcraft! If you make any more attempts to escape, you will be killed on site!” Taking shuddery breaths, dirt and rocks pressing painfully into his cheek, Grian met Scar’s gaze. Bdubs grunted as he was punched to the stomach and forced to the ground, tears in his eyes.

They were trapped.

No one was going to help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buh buh buuuuhhhh.   
> Anyways, Thylama is going to get what they deserve (trust me, I planned out the next three chapters when I wrote the last scene. It’s been fun.) Anyways, if you act like any of the citizens of Thylama, you are a discount store with regular pricing and no bathrooms. If you’re worried about the next chapter, just know it is a total of 8653 words and 22 pages compared to the usual number of a little below 7000 words. It’s probably going to be out sometime next week (like within five days, depends on when I finish “Fireforge” and then “Three Birds, One Stone” after that. Also, check out the Chapter Index as it has updated all the way to chapter 17 or so!  
> For the rest of you, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope you have a wonderful day! Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you in the next chapter because I hate that cliffhanger just as much if not more than you!


	6. III-Keralis' Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hermits meet the Shield of Thylama—as well as its Sword, the town judge Suzanna Karron. Meanwhile, Etho is still on the run from the guards who went after him, and looking for Keralis’ Shadow—whatever that means.  
> Oh, and Bdubs has a vision—and it’s not that good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for: beatings, threats of death, discussions of hangings, peril, near-death, arrow wounds, blood, bruises, more TBA upon request. The starting POV is going to be a little…funky, I guess. Yes, we’re still in Thylama (ugh), but things will end up rather…interesting. Additionally, if you’ve noticed the way the chapter index has changed, that is because each Act will feature a level up for all of the characters! (Which probably means I will have to go through and redo most of my little info pages on them all, but that’s fine.) Finally, we’re going to also lead into another place at the end (slight spoilers, I know, but it’s important for y’all to know), so…yeah!  
> I was originally worried that this one was going to be a thousand words shorter. Turns out it’s actually longer than the first two chapters. (Thankfully not the first two chapters combined, because that would be terrifying).   
> Let’s jump into this, shall we?

He was running again.

Beneath his feet—no, his _paws_ —the dirt was strewn with pebbles and leaves and twigs. Under the moonlight that streamed in between the gaps of the trees, the moonlight bounced off of his white fur and he cursed himself for not having the sense to roll in some mud to hide it. The arrow was still lodged in his shoulder—most of the shaft had snapped off when he’d ducked under a log, but it seemed that the guardsmen hadn’t given up.

A crossbow bolt snapped into the trunk of a tree, just a breath from his ears.

Ducking, Etho kept running, forced himself to run _faster_ , run _harder_. He had to get away. _Wait, you need to save the others._ His mind shouted at him, _They’re going to die and it’ll be your fault! You need to go back!_

_I’m not dying for a bunch of strangers!_ The more logical side of him roared, and he skidded to a stop underneath a fallen log and then ducked inside. Pressing himself to the rotted wood, he looked out through a small hole and prayed to any gods above that he might not be found. His flanks heaved, and the pounding of horses’ hooves thundered around him, shaking the earth. Panting, Etho snapped his muzzle shut and held his breath.

“Where the hell did he go?” One of the guards snarled. “I shot him, I’m sure he would—”

“He’ll bleed out, anyways. He’s probably licking his wounds somewhere. I know where you hit him.” The men mused, and Etho’s ears flicked back as he heard movement deeper in the woods. Turning, he saw the bright golden eyes and the looming silhouette of a charcoal-grey wolf with a lighter ruff. A long pink tongue flicked out as the wolf licked its chops and blinked, then looked at the men on the horses. A low, deep, guttural growl left the wolf’s throat as it stepped into the sunlight.

“What the—” A third voice asked, and the wolf snarled before lunging. The three men screamed, and Etho curled up as much as he could in the rotted-out log and covered his ears with his paws as the men screamed and horses bellowed. Several heavy _thuds_ echoed across the clearing, and the wolf snarled as several sets of hooves galloped away frantically. A metallic _clang-clang-clang_ , like armour clashing against armour, faded along with the hoofbeats. Silence settled over the area and Etho lifted his head.

Soft pawsteps padded over and the wood above his head groaned and cracked before giving away. White teeth glinted like flint in the moonlight as the wolf reached in and delicately grabbed Etho by the scruff. Lifting him out, it set him down and then nosed his shoulder. A low whimper escaped his throat, and amber eyes darted to him.

_Name._ The wolf prodded, lifting the tip of its muzzle a few times as its tail and ears flicked.

_Etho. You._

_Shadow._ Nodding, Etho watched as Shadow continued to lick at his shoulder. _You are hurt. Change form. Know Keralis?_

_Yes._

_Where?_

_Prison. Thylama._ Nodding in the direction of the town, Etho slowly shifted back to his human form, wincing the whole time. On the bright side, he wasn’t naked—magic clothes, although the arrow continued to stay lodged in his shoulder. A low gasp left his mouth and he looked to Shadow, “Do you understand Common?”

_Yes._ Tilting its head to the side, Shadow flicked its tail and then looked around, back towards Thylama. _Company._

“What do you—” Shadow reached up and smacked a paw over his mouth, acting undeniably human, and Etho followed its gaze. Standing in the pathway, over one of the bodies of the guards (all three were littered around the clearing, one of them was missing the armour from his arm), was another wolf. This one was a reddish-brown, however, with a flash of white on its chest and a white part to its hind leg. Padding forward, it chuffed at Shadow and then nosed at Etho’s shoulder. “That’s not going to help much, but thank you.” He laughed softly, and the wolf looked at him before biting down on his shoulder. Yelping, Etho tried jerking away. “What the heck? What’s wrong with you?”

The wolf refused to let him go for several moments. When it moved back, the arrow wound was…gone. Healed, entirely. It looked to Shadow and then started barking and chuffing softly. Then, it turned and left as quickly as it came. Etho looked to Shadow, who paused and tilted its head to the side before speaking. _He says go to prison. The others will be in cell. Dig out._

“Alright.” Glancing over his once-wounded shoulder again, Etho sighed and then shifted back to his own fox form. Walking over to a small creek where the shore was muddy, he wrinkled his nose and then flopped on his side. Rolling in the mud until his fur was less a snowy white and more a brackish dark brown, Etho walked back over to Shadow. _Now we go._ Shadow let out a huffing sound akin to a snicker, and Etho shot a look its way.

The pair started trotting back towards Thylama.

+++

Impulse was crying, and Grian couldn’t blame him.

The young man’s wings were fully exposed, pins through the membrane of the furthest fingers to extend them to a painful point. The lower edges had ripped in several areas, and Grian pressed his back to the mossy cobblestones of the wall at his back. Impulse’s hands had been locked into some sort of wooden block with holes for his wrists and a metal loop, which was currently locked around a hook dangling from the ceiling above his head. The guards had found his wings when they’d all been stripped of their armour, and now Impulse was locked in an entirely new cell while the others were all stuck in the same area. It was all one cell, apparently Thylama didn’t have many prisoners. The floor was made of hard-packed dirt, although he had a feeling it could be dug into with a lot of effort and sharp claws none of them had.

“Impulse.” Tango suddenly said from where he was. Impulse didn’t stop crying, still trying to get free. “Impulse!” Jerking to a stop, Impulse looked over at him with wide golden-yellow eyes. When Tango started talking, his tone had a peculiar kind of softness to it that meant he’d gone through this kind of thing before. “It’s going to be okay, but you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep doing that. Okay?”

Chest shuddering, Impulse glanced up at the shackles at his wrist, then nodded once. “Are they going to try burning us?” False asked, and everyone looked to her. Tango shot her a “really?” look, while Impulse started to panic ever so slightly again. Meanwhile, TFC got up, grunting as he had to pick himself off of the floor with heavy magic-proofing manacles at his wrists, and then walked over. Whatever he said to Impulse, it calmed him.

“No. They don’t burn witches here. Never have—they think it’s barbaric.” Rolling his eyes, Tango continued, “More likely than not, they’re going to try and charge all the nonmagic folk here with being an accomplice to a witch. If you can’t pay—and they’ll make you and TFC there pay, they don’t want to anger the high elf nobility—then they’ll probably just hang you. The ones charged with witchcraft—Scar, Bdubs, me, Zed, Impulse, the druids, and the ‘monster’ types,” he put quotations around the words, then continued, “will either be drowned or hung. They don’t have a lot of resources to waste or heavy rocks, so…just a guess.”

Zedaph pulled his knees to his chest and stared ahead. “Don’t worry. Etho will be back soon.” Keralis reassured, reaching over and touching the blond’s shoulder.

“Etho’s a coward. He ran.” Grian snapped, taking a breath. Looking at him, Keralis paused for a moment and then seemed to realise it.

“Oh. You couldn’t understand me.” When everyone turned to him, Keralis continued, “I told him to go find Shadow, a dire wolf friend of mine. She was outside the town—I saw her a couple times as we rode into Thylama. If you notice this,” he knocked on the dirt below them, “then it’s kind of obvious that she and Etho are going to try and dig us out.”

Mumbo looked up at where one of the walls had a small, barred window. Standing up, he got on his tip toes and tried to look out. The manacles on his wrist clanked against the cobblestones. “I can’t see any— _ahh!”_ He fell back and Cub jumped forward to catch him. Flailing, Mumbo grabbed onto his arms, said a breathless thanks, and then sat down. Meanwhile, something incredibly muddy had appeared in the window, poking a furry head and a pointed snout inside.

“Etho!” Keralis grinned, then got up and helped the little fox inside. He stuck a hand through the window and said a greeting in another language. “Good job, Etho. How’s your shoulder?”

Etho snorted as Keralis set him down. The fox form slowly seemed to almost…melt away, and a moment later there was a very muddy Etho sitting in front of them. “Hey. Sorry for running.” Cracking his back, he winced a few times and then said, “There’s three guards outside the prison. Do you want to—”

In the corridor outside, one of the doors creaked open. “Hide.” Nodding, Etho shifted back to his fox form, glanced around, and then darted into one of the shadowy corners and curled up. When he tucked his tail over his muzzle and closed his eyes, he almost entirely disappeared.

The door to the cell was opened and a woman strode inside. Grian immediately got the sense that she was some kind of snobby aristocrat. Judges’ robes hung over her shoulders, and beneath was a dark crimson, velvet dress with golden embroidery across the skirt. Ashy, brown-and-grey streaked blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and her sharp grey eyes snapped over the whole group. Clasping her hands together, she smiled tightly and said in a patronizing tone, “Hello. I understand you’re the ones who have been causing trouble in Thylama.”

Wrinkling his nose, Grian knew this wasn’t going to go well.

+++

They were dragged out of the cell in the middle of the night and to the courthouse.

As they had been dragged out, Keralis had whispered something to Etho. Grian wasn’t sure what exactly he had said, but Etho made no reply other than a twitch of the ears. The guards—called the Shield of Thylama—were too busy trying to drag a now-panicking Impulse from his part of the cell. He was still panicking, and one of the guards slammed the hilt of a sword into his head to knock him unconscious. He went limp, they tied his wings to his back, and then began dragging him to the courthouse.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Tango snapped, and one of the guards threatened him. Snarling demonically right back, Tango started swearing in what Grian guessed was Infernal, tail lashing viciously. The guards holding him leered away, and the judge—the “Sword” of Thylama—glanced back at him.

“You’re not helping your case, demon blood.”

Tango snarled at her, then switched back to Common and said, “And you’re not helping me think you’re anything more than some callous, half-hearted wench who murdered a family and then hung their wings like a _trophy_.”

They passed by the wall of wings, and Grian kept his gaze on the ground. The tone of the judge’s voice, however, gave him reason to believe she was probably sneering. “The demons deserved it. Fallen angels.”

They were then pulled into the courthouse, which seemed to be some kind of church. The guards looked at Tango almost expectantly as he was dragged over the threshold, like they thought he might start burning alive. He shot them unimpressed looks the entire time, and they were forced to sit down on the wooden pews. Impulse was thrown on the carpet, and Tango snarled and bit one of the guards’ fingers shamelessly. Yanking his hand away, the guard punched him in the face.

Tango’s head jerked back and his nose bled. Lifting a hand, he wiped it off and glared at the guards. “I dare you to try that again when I have my armour back, coward.”

“All of you, quiet. Guards, take up the doors.” The judge ordered, settling down in her seat. When the guards had left, Tango leaned forwards to check on Impulse, and Grian did the same. The young man seemed fine, albeit unconscious. “My name is Suzanne Karron.”

“Bdubs…how long do we have until that vision of yours comes true?” Cub hissed, leaning over to him. Bdubs seemed to think, then glanced out the stained-glass window at the sky outside.

“A few hours. Maybe.” Bdubs took a breath and then looked around the whole place. Raising his voice, he asked, “Is this a church of the World Maker?”

Suzanne’s head tilted to the side, and her eyes narrowed a small bit. “Of course it is. Why do you ask?”

Bdubs nodded at one of the windows. “He doesn’t wear purple, and I don’t think he’s ever taken the form of a mountain goat.”

Suzanne laughed once. “Are you suggesting that our artists got something wrong?”

“No. I think they did exactly what you wanted them to.” Turning back to her, Bdubs’ eyes flickered with an odd emotion, and his head tipped to the side ever so slightly. “I’m just saying that I think the story has had holes punched in it.”

Suzanne’s eyes narrowed, and she cleared her throat. “You are all under arrest for witchcraft, the illegal use of magic, compliance with mages, and theft. I would be more careful if I were you—I am the judge and jury of this town. I will be the one deciding what punishments you are given, whether you live or die.”

“Then why not get the damned trial over with already? We already know you want most of us dead.” Tango snapped, and Suzanne looked to him sharply. “Skip the trial, you’ll find us guilty of it all whether it’s true or not.”

“My only question is what you mean about theft?” Beef said, and Suzanne looked at them.

“We went to knock on the door of David and his family, only to find him and them all gone. You’re just lucky I’m not charging you with murder.” Turning back to her stupid little gavel, she sighed and then said, “Although, if _you_ ,” she pointed it at Tango, who scoffed, “are going to be like that, I suppose I could expedite this. I want to go to bed.”

_Like we’re meant to feel bad for you._ Grian watched her, but she didn’t bother to look at him. “Just get it over with already.” He muttered as she called a guard over and seemed to consider something.

“Alright, I think I’ve decided.” She indicated Impulse. “Guards, take the dragon child outside. Just the usual treatment. For the nonmagic users, a fine of thirty-five gold. If it cannot be paid, then they will be hung tomorrow morning. That last punishment goes for all the magic-users. And the dragon child, of course.” Smiling softly, she added, “Is that good enough for you?” Tango stared up at her, red eyes narrowed.

“Peachy.”

+++

When they got back, they did some quick math with their freshly returned coin bags.

Impulse was gone, although they knew he was going to be brought back. It was morning, and the guards hadn’t bothered to come by. Shadow had dropped off some recon notes—their horses were still at the family’s barn, and the guards were hardly bothering to watch their things since the whole group was meant to be slaughtered anyways.

In the corner of the room where one of the windows was, Etho was digging away frantically. Panting sharply every so often, he snorted and shook the dirt from his head, then went back to digging and digging and digging. “It’s okay, Etho.” Keralis murmured, and Etho jolted upright and scowled at him. “If the World Maker gave Bdubs a vision of destroying the town, then he wants us to get out of the town first. Worst comes to worst, when he comes to destroy it, then he’ll come get us out.”

“Are you sure?” Stress asked, and Bdubs paused and then nodded.

“I mean, he rescued me from being eaten three times. It’s not out of the ordinary for him.” Etho flicked a furry, mud-streaked tail and went back to digging. The door outside opened and Keralis hurriedly threw himself onto his back over the hole, staring up at the ceiling like he was counting cracks and already giving up.

The guards began to drag someone—doubtlessly Impulse—into the cell and threw him on the dirt. Letting out a weak grunt, Impulse didn’t even try to get up. Tango and Zedaph darted over, and Tango glared up at them but said nothing as the two guards left. Keralis waited, and then looked up after the door had opened and slammed shut again. “How is he?”

Grian walked over and knelt down beside Impulse. His wings were slashed up, membrane torn and bleeding in several areas, and he was breathing but not well. Apparently, the “normal treatment” meant some kind of beating, judging by the bruises under his shirt and the whip marks making their ways across the back of his arms and his neck and shoulders. Zedaph stroked his hair gently, and Impulse whimpered once. “Ssh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Impulse stirred and then cried out in pain, wings twitching uselessly. Grian glanced around at the others. Their healers were disabled, their items were gone so none of them could heal him. _This is bad._ Grian mused, frowning slightly and then looking to Etho.

“So, we need our stuff back. How many guards did Shadow say they had watching over our stuff?” Cub asked, and Keralis paused to think for a moment. Stress went to Impulse and Grian moved out of the way so she could help him.

“Four, I think.” Cub paused and started tracing out something in the dirt.

“Alright. So, once Etho and Shadow—I’m presuming she is digging through on the other side?” Keralis nodded again, and Cub turned back to his sketch. “Once Etho and Shadow have dug through the wall, I think TFC should take everyone out. Ren, Iskall, you both have hand-to-hand skill, yes?” Both nodded, and Cub turned back. “Alright, then you two and I will take on the guards. Do we have anyone else proficient in combat?”

“I can fight.” Jevin volunteered, and Cub glanced at him.

“Are you sure?” The young man nodded, and Cub paused before sketching another few details into the dirt. “Anyone else?”

Wels and Beef volunteered, and then xB spoke up as well. “Actually, xB,” TFC began, “I’m going to need you. You’re a Lightfoot halfling, yes?”

“I am.”

‘You’re stealthier than most of us and incredibly nimble, and we’re going to have to make our way towards the barn.” xB nodded, and then Etho reappeared from the tunnel. The fur at his toes was matted dark with mud, dirt, and blood, and he gingerly took a few steps forwards. Beside him, Shadow emerged into the cell and shook dirt from her fur. Tipping her head to the side, she dumped some stray pebbles onto Xisuma’s lap, and he reached up to rub between her ears. Keralis chuckled softly. “Alright. Let’s go. Cub, what’s your plan?”

“Beef, Ren, Iskall, Jevin,” Cub grinned wickedly, “how strong are you guys?”

+++

“Hey, what are you--!” The guards started shouting in the corridor and Bdubs swore he heard Beef give a war cry before attacking. The dirt above their head shuddered and showered down on them just a little bit as they made their way through the tunnel.

It wasn’t very long, only about fifteen feet. They’d be emerging into the woods. Thin streams of light filtered in from both entrances, and there were several thuds behind them. “Oh, please tell me that’s Cub and the others.” He said, trying to glance back. As far as he could tell, it wasn’t the heavily armoured silhouette of one of the guards.

Cub laughed loudly. “Yup! Come on!”

They emerged into the fresh air and Bdubs helped Zedaph and Tango pull Impulse from the tunnel. Cub delicately hefted the young man up onto his shoulders and started walking with not even so much of a stumble. “How—?”

“I have some kids back home in Y’mard. Been carrying them since they were born.” He grinned broadly, and Impulse groaned again. “Hey, don’t worry, I have you.”

“Cub?” Lifting his head, Impulse gasped in pain and Bdubs went through his pack once Jevin handed it back to him. They all took a few moments to pull their armour back on, returning cloaks and bags and weapons. Tango and Zedaph carried Impulse’s gear.

“Hey, man, you’re alright. Just…just stay still,” Tango said, smiling in a way Bdubs just knew had to be fake. He’d given that look to his kids and Kira a few times, mostly when they asked about how his trips had gone and he didn’t actually want to tell them how bad they were. “We’ve got you.”

Impulse took a shuddering breath and went limp again, unconscious. They slipped through the forest, taking the long way around to the farmhouse and the barn. Moving as quickly as possible, Bdubs kept glancing behind the group and then back ahead. Impulse still hadn’t woken up, although he had groaned a few more times from the pain as Cub’s movement jolted the injuries to his back.

Once they arrived, there was only one person there. xB pulled his bow back and fired, immediately missing and then facepalming. The arrow shot off past the farmhouse. “They messed with my bowstring.” He growled, quickly fixing the bow as best as he could in the short moment. Angrily muttering to himself, he glanced around. “Normally I’m better than that.”

“No, it’s the bowstring. They were screwing with it when we found them.” Ren pointed out, and xB’s nose wrinkled. Meanwhile, TFC held up his staff and smacked it on the ground. The guard screamed and then ran away from whatever he was seeing. On the ground, Etho led the way forward, flicking his paws. “Etho, are you alright?” The werefox turned to look at them with bright amber eyes.

Leaning down, Stress shamelessly scooped him up and he yelped. When he tried wriggling around, she carefully put him over one shoulder and then murmured something to him. He wriggled around a little bit, then gave up and laid against her with a sigh. His paws dangled over Stress’ shoulder and she patted him on the back a few times.

When they got to the stables, their horses were still exactly where they left them the night before. “Alright, let’s get back on the road.” TFC announced, and they carefully pulled Impulse onto his horse. A realisation suddenly hit Scar.

“Oh! Oh, guys! I can help!” Scrambling off of his horse, he stumbled over with his staff in hand and placed a hand on Impulse’s head. Impulse groaned softly, opened his eyes part of the way. A soft glow lit over them both, and Impulse’s eyes closed again. The gashes on his wings healed into small bruises, and he coughed up a spurt of blood. “Oh, no.”

“It’s okay.” Impulse rasped, voice tight. “I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

Scar nodded and then stepped back, and Tango and Zedaph helped Cub strap Impulse into the saddle before heading over to their own horses. Cub tied the two horses’ reins together and they started off on the road, taking back paths. Shadow led the way, Keralis and Xisuma right behind her on their horses.

“So, Bdubs,” he turned to look at Doc, who had an odd look on his face, “What did—why is the World Maker going to destroy Thylama.”

“’For what they’ve done and what they’ll do’ was the quote. I think he meant what they’ve done to us. By putting us in prison.” As they rode away, Bdubs glanced back at Thylama and shook his head. “I tried to talk with him. I _did_ talk with him, in the cell. His mind was set.”

“Set? Set on what?” Doc asked, and the air suddenly sparked with electricity. The sky cracked with lightning above them, the whole world flashed with white. As thunder roared across the valley, there was a rush of air around them like the world had lost its breath. Staring up, Bdubs saw the sky black out as a massive dragon shot overhead. Arcing around, it focused eyes that shone like the break of dawn on the group.

“What the hell—”

“What is that?”

The horses shied, and everyone fought to get them under control. As soon as they did, Bdubs spoke, “That—” everyone looked at him, but he didn’t see the horrified looks on their faces, “—means it’s too late for Thylama.”

Landing on a mountain in the distance, the dragon fanned its wings out and tipped its head back. A thunderous roar shattered the silence that had fallen over them all, sending chills up Bdubs’ spine and over his arms as it jarred his teeth in their places. Lightning cracked from the beast’s mouth, and it shifted a massive tail around. Sunlight sparked off of vibrant, amethyst purple scales, and a massive rack of ivory white horns sprouted from the dragon’s head. It inhaled, then rose to its mighty talons on the hilltop. Crackling electricity formed in its mouth, and Bdubs glanced around. The others seemed to be coming to the same realisation.

With a single breath, the dragon spat lightning down onto the town. Fire sprouted up, leaping into the sky and clawing at it. Grian froze, staring there with an almost blank expression. “Everyone gallop!” Scar yelled, grabbing the reins of his horse. Wheeling it around, he shouted, “Grian! _Grian!”_

Grian didn’t move. Galloping back, Scar grabbed the reins from the young man and started pulling the two along with them. As they galloped away, Bdubs glanced back at the dragon.

As they all rode away from Thylama’s remnants, the dragon watched them with cool grey eyes.

+++

They followed a wagon trail along the pathway. Etho returned to his human form, revealing that his fingers and knuckles were bloodied and bruised. Red painted his gloves and his sleeves almost up to his elbow. When they came to stop in a clearing, settling down for the night, Stress bandaged his hands delicately but expertly. Grian was still sitting in the saddle, a distant look to his eyes.

“Hey, Grian. Grian.” Cleo carefully reached up and hesitated, then touched his face. Ren stood nearby, ready to move if he had to. The young man’s chest fluttered with every breath, and his eyes were wide.

“Okay, Cleo—” Wels stepped in, gently touching Grian’s shoulder. He jumped once, but didn’t move. “Let me take care of this. I’ve seen this before.” Carefully, he pulled Grian from the saddle and carefully moved him over to a fallen log. Jevin began making dinner, and Cleo stepped back before going to help him. xB sat beside Wels and Grian, restringing his bow and testing it. Ren watched over them all. Bdubs settled down by them as well, watching his friends with concern. Impulse had been helped into his, Tango’s, and Zedaph’s tents. Joe played a gentle tune on an accordion, and Stress and Etho talked softly in another corner. Scar limped over to Grian and Wels, touched the former’s knee as he settled down. Xisuma, Keralis, and Shadow were taking care of the horses, while False and TFC talked in a corner. Doc was picking up firewood with Iskall, Mumbo, and Beef a little ways away in the woods, Cub standing watch as he sharpened a shortsword. At Cub’s feet, Hypno was meditating or something. Bdubs wasn’t really sure.

Sometime after the sun went down and the dusky shades of twilight settled on the forest, Grian blinked a few times and then looked around. “Wh—what?” Jumping to his feet, he glanced around in a panic, eyes still wide. “Where—”

“Grian, Grian, hey.” Wels and Scar got up, and Wels grabbed his arm gently. “Sit down, sit down. You’re okay.”

Shaking his head, Grian glanced around a few times. “I don’t—I don’t—what happened?” He took a few more shuddery breaths, and Jevin handed him a bowl of soup before making some for the others and calling everyone over.

“We were hoping you could tell us, love.” Stress murmured. Blinking, Grian looked down at the fire.

“I just—I was thinking about my—my hometown. It…it was a long time ago.” Looking down at his soup, Grian stirred it absentmindedly with his spoon and added, “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I get that.” Joe said, and everyone looked at him. “I’m not going into it.”

Tango laughed. “What, is this trauma-sharing night?” He had Impulse’s head in his lap—the young man had dragged himself out and laid down on a blanket Zedaph had laid on the forest floor. Stroking Impulse’s hair, Tango glanced down at him.

“Absolutely.” Bdubs joked, and everyone smiled at him. “Well, it can’t be me. You know my story. I got swallowed by a fish and a hellhound and an acid serpent. Anyone else want to go?”

Silence settled over the woods, and Tango added, “Not everyone at once. Jeez.” Laughing, he shook his head and said, “Fine, I’ll go. Y’all seem trustworthy, so…I have a secret.”

“What kind of secret?”

“I’m not full tiefling.” Zedaph gasped and shoved his shoulder.

“You’re lying!” Shoving back, Tango belted out a laugh.

“I am _not_ lying.” Running a hand into his hair, Tango continued, “My mother was a normal human, but I never met my dad. She moved back in with her parents when my dad died. Lost at sea, I think.” Shrugging, he said, “if that’s true, it’s not his fault. If it’s not, I’m going to find him and _make_ it true.”

False leaned forwards and quietly asked, “What happened to your mother?”

Tail flicking, Tango stared at his feet as he crossed his ankles and kicked his toe just a little bit. “She…died. I was thirteen at the time, and…they did not want a kid with horns around. So…” he ran a hand through his hair to pull it back, revealing two thin stumps where his horns would have been. “They did that, and some other stuff, and then they dumped me in the woods.”

“Damn.” Xisuma murmured under his breath.

Tango shrugged. “They were scared, it wasn’t their fault. Besides, if I hadn’t ended up dying in the woods, I wouldn’t have met your patron.” He nodded at Bdubs. Blinking, Bdubs smiled, and Tango returned it. Taking a breath, Tango looked to Etho. “Speaking of feared people—Etho, what’s your story? How’d you get turned into a werefox?”

“Oh. I, uh…I was actually always a werewolf.” Pausing, Etho frowned, chuckled lightly, and then corrected, “Werefox. My parents were both like me. I grew up in a pretty normal place. Got in with some bad people, ended up an assassin. Met the World Maker, I think, and now…I’m here with you guys. My skills are yours to use however you want me to.”

“Okay, why is it that you’re all evil but I can like you so much?” False cried, resting her chin in her hands and grumpily stirring the soup in her lap. “Now if I get mad at you guys I’m going to have to actually work things out instead of just be annoyed at you.”

Everyone laughed and Tango leaned over to nudge her in the ribs. “You like us, eh? What kind of way?”

“Shut up.” False shoved him away, and he started laughing. “Anyone else want to share what happened to them? Jevin? You used to be a paladin, didn’t you? We heard stories about you in—” TFC cleared his throat, and False ducked her head before quickly saying, “Well, it’s not everyday a commanding officer gets turned into a Visho by a mage.”

“Honestly?” Everyone turned to Jevin, who chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his neck with his human hand, “It’s not that impressive. I was a support line cook, but I didn’t like being one. So I trained, and the king decided that I was impressive enough he’d give me a probationary period as a soldier. We were still fighting the drow—er, the dark elves—then, so it was kind of…I guess not _easy_ by any means, it was a war, but there were a lot of chances.” He looked down at his Visho hand, which was glowing a pale blue in the light. “We don’t have that many Visho in Glaedir.”

Grian shuddered at the name. “Yeah, they don’t really like strange folk there.” He mumbled, and Jevin glanced at him curiously. However, Grian didn’t elaborate, and no one felt the need to press after what had happened earlier. Instead, Jevin simply continued with his own story.

“I thought I would die in the battles, but I fought my way up to the rank of commanding officer, like you said, False. My superiors were impressed. A few summers after the war—I was sixteen when I joined as a cook, spent the next…gosh, eight? Nine years fighting? Then, about seven years ago, we were on a regular patrol around the Gallir-Shidan region. Uh, close to the border of the Linxakasendalor—”

“The _what_?” False’s head snapped up. Face flushing, Jevin stammered out.

“Linxakasendalor. One of the dragonborn tribes—it, Kerryhylon, and Nemmonis are what separates the capital in Clethtinthiallor, Naia Tsinadus, from Glaedir.”

“How do you spell any of that? Or pronounce it?”

“Lin-za-ka-send-allor. Kerry-hy-lan. Ne-mon-es.” Pausing, Jevin frowned and thought through the next bit. “Cleth-tin-tha-lore. Naia is pretty normal it’s just Ny-uh. Tsinadus is Sin-nah-dus, like dust but without the t.”

“No, like. _How_ do you know all of that from memory?” Jevin blinked at Beef for a few moments, then paused.

“Most of it is diction. Basic solider stuff—knowing how to read, speak, write.” Shrugging, Jevin continued, “But we were on the border of Gallir-Shidon and Linxakasendalor when this mage suddenly came out of the woods at us. When I saw the roster and saw you on there,” he nodded at Scar, “my mind immediately thought that this was going to be the same thing all over again. Obviously it’s not. I don’t think you could hurt a fly.”

Scar laughed almost bitterly, staring at the fire. “I wouldn’t say that. Magic’s an odd thing.”

“Indeed it is. Anyways, we took out the mage, but when he realised he was losing…he decided he was going to destroy himself and take us with him. I threw some of the others out of the way, tackled him…he messed up the words. Nearly killed me. The guys who found us managed to rush me to safety.” Looking down at his hands, Jevin added quietly, “They decided it would be best to discharge me from the rank—honourably, of course. They hung the mage afterwards. It was…too late for the others.” He took a breath. Silence fell around the campfire, broken only by the soft crackling of the wood snapping in the flames. “But hey! I get a new chance to start over and make a name for myself. I’m not bitter about anything, and if I can travel, then I can make sure that there aren’t any other magic-users out to hurt people.”

“It’s good that you can see an upside to it,” Stress began. Jevin smiled at her. Leaning forwards, Stress asked, “Does it hurt?”

He glanced down at where the slime was slowly taking over his form. “Eh, sometimes. It started at my neck where he hit me, spread to where it is now about…four months ago? I don’t know if it’ll spread more, but there should be a while to go until it does.” Grinning, he added, “I’ll keep my rugged good looks for a while yet.”

“Shut up.” Wels snorted, and Jevin grinned wickedly.

“I know what you mean about a fresh start.” Keralis mused, stirring the fire a little bit. Shadow had her head in her lap, the rest of her body curled in the shadows. “I’m glad I left my old life behind. It’s much better this way, anyways.”

“Your old life? Any chance you want to elaborate?” Jevin asked, leaning forwards and raising his eyebrow (he only had the one, since half his face was slime). Laughing, Keralis looked up at the sky and seemed to consider it for a moment.

“Oh, would you look at the moon. It’s bedtime. Come on, Xisuma, Shadow. I know how the both of you get in the morning and no one else needs to experience that.” Everyone started laughing, and Keralis dragged a sleepy Xisuma off after him into the night.

Looking up at the sky, Bdubs took a breath, sent a silent prayer that his girls would be alright, and then went to his tent.

+++

_That night, Bdubs found himself in the throes of yet another vision._

_Normally, they weren’t that bad. The ones he’d been having lately had all been about joining the group, about the destruction of Thylama. Rarely, very rarely, they had been about his fellow teammates or even the other ones—a dwarf, a dragonborn, and some sort of rogue. An assassin, he thought, but he never got more than a glimpse of pale lilac eyes flashing behind a black mask over dark skin._

_This, however, was nothing like those._

_There was no peace to it. He was on a battlefield, a flat and barren plain of tawny dirt and blood-soaked mud. Dark brown smeared his boots and broken spears jutted from the ground. Shards of armour and massive golden dragon scales littered the ground._ What the—

_“Look out!” Spinning around, Bdubs stared at the beast rising above him. It was massive, yellowed fangs glittering in the sun silhouetting its shape. He couldn’t make out much about it, but there was glowing silver venom dripping down off of its fangs, dropping to the ground where it spiralled up into small little clouds of smoke. Sharp spikes were arranged in a row down its spine, beginning at its nose and trailling all the way down to its tail. There was a powerful growl, and it inhaled._

_“No!” The word came from behind him, and someone tackled the beast away. When Bdubs opened his eyes again, he saw the beast was gone. A Visho turned to look at him with wide eyes, a silver longsword in each hand and chain mail settled on their form. Dark blue eyes met Bdubs and he asked, “Are you okay?”_

“Jevin?” _Jolting, Bdubs touched his throat. Jevin ran through him, and Bdubs turned. As he did, the world changed around him. Stumbling to the side, he grabbed the sides of his head as a pulse of pain shot into his eye and he screamed. When he straightened up, he was standing in front of Cub. Night had shrouded them, thick silvery fog surrounding them. Hard-packed desert sand laid beneath their feet, and Bdubs kicked a pebble as he turned in a tight circle. Gasping painfully, he sucked in one breath after another and then glanced around._ “Cub, where are we?”

_“Show yourself!” Cub shouted, turning with fury written across his face. Chest shuddering, he roared, “You took them! Where are they?”_

_“My darling boy,” tears rolled down Cub’s cheeks, and he turned to look around at where the voice had come from, “you really have no idea what’s happened to them do you?”_

_“Stop playing games! Where are they?” Unfiltered rage cracked Cub’s voice, and he swallowed desperately. “You took them! You took them! Tell me where they are!” There was a swishing noise and Cub stumbled forwards with a gasp, dropping his swords and touching his stomach. Beneath his ribcage, sprouting from below his sternum and bloodied, was the point of a broadsword._

“Cub!”

_Something came bounding out of the woods. The ground shook beneath them both, and Bdubs was thrown to the ground. Grunting, he looked up and stared as Cub screamed again. A massive grizzly with a greyed snout and scars across its forehead and chest had locked its jaws around his shoulder, digging its fang in deep. Throwing its head to the side, it threw Cub into the fog and then looked down at Bdubs. It lunged, and he threw an arm over his eyes._

_Everything faded out again, and Bdubs was falling for a moment._

_“Tango!” A distant, unfamiliar voice called. Cracking open his eyes, he found himself lying on yet another battlefield. This time, it was surrounded by dust, and he dragged himself to his feet. A tiefling appeared in the clouds, eyes wide as she looked around. White curls hung around her chin, and she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tango!”_

_Her skin was a pale pink, and Bdubs dimly realised that he was seeing the future. The tiefling was around Tango’s age, clothed in shades of black and grey (although the colours were smudged with dirt). Dyed, studded black leather was meshed with the outfit, and a slim katana hung from its scabbard at her waist. Glancing around, she took another breath and cried, “Tango!”_

_He was thrown to the side, gripping the sides of his head as he dropped to his knees, and then he was on another battlefield. He didn’t have time to take anything in. He was kind of distracted by what was in front of him._

_Xisuma was leaning over Keralis, snarling almost ferally and eyes sparking a bright purple as he forced a shortsword closer and closer to Keralis’ throat. The only thing that prevented the blade from piercing Keralis’ throat was the druid’s hands. There was a soft look to his eyes, and Keralis said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to fight.”_

_Keralis let go, and Xisuma slammed the sword down, and Bdubs screamed before reaching towards them before everything faded out again._

_Then he was on a mountain, and he stumbled back, holding onto his head the whole time as he went through one vision after the other. Some were quick—a giant eagle silhouetted by the sun, beams of light shining through golden feathers as it loomed over them. A dark elf with charcoal grey skin and white hair, pulling a hood up over their head as they strode away from a body slumped in a corner. A town burning, with a lion with bat wings, sharp gunmetal grey horns protruding from its mane, and a cobra for a tail flying overhead._

_Others were terrifying, like Xisuma holding onto his head as his fingers clawed at a rose gold circlet, screaming his throat out, then straightening up and leaping at Bdubs with fury contorting his face under the helm and his sword already in hand. Wels screaming as fire flickered over his form, eyes blazing a bright ruby red as the fire consumed him and a hellhound’s roar shattered the world. Tango having a glass bottle of some kind of venom smashing into his face as he stumbled back and then fell off of a tower, Grian charging after him within a moment. Scar pointing an antique pistol at Xisuma’s chest while they were seemingly alone, a cold light to his eyes and an apology on his lips._

_Others were simply strange. Stress screamed. The ground around her suddenly rattled and shifted, vines striking from the earth and shooting up over their heads. A massive dragon looming above them with bright eyes, sparkling with warmth, tilting its head to the side._

_Heat washed over Bdubs, and he turned to see that he was in the darkest depths of what he could only describe as the hell realm, Na’atharin. Panting, his eyes locked on something sitting on a golden podium in the middle of the red-brick room. Lava popped somewhere in the distance, and there were dark steel bars over the windows. In the middle of the golden podium, there sat a wine red, velvet cushion of some sort. Sitting in the middle of it was an orb, golden in the middle and fading out to red and then eventually a dark wine red at the edges. Taking a breath, Bdubs coughed harshly and then stumbled forwards as the heat washed over him. Collapsing to the ground, he choked and then collapsed as the burning bricks faded away._

_Somehow, they were in the middle of a dungeon room. Moss grew on the walls, and Zedaph flipped into view. Eyes narrowing, he jumped forwards and suddenly disappeared in a burst of purple smoke. Turning, Bdubs saw Zedaph reappear and dodge beneath the claws of a shadowy monster. Drawing his rapier, Zedaph lunged forwards with a shout and ducked beneath another claw swipe before dodging in to stab the beast. It bellowed with rage and lashed out, striking Zedaph across the side. He went flying, slamming into a stone brick column with a sickening_ crack _Bdubs felt in his chest._

_Finally, there was a massive tower falling towards him as Bdubs stared up at it, thrown on the ground. Joe jumped into the image, took a breath, and then_ screamed _. It cracked like lightning, snapped like thunder, and he couldn’t believe his eyes as the falling rubble and the building itself disintegrated into pebbles and ash. Darkness surrounded him and he gasped again._

_Jolting awake in darkness, he moved as best he could and then felt warmth rush around him._ “Hello?” _He called, desperation leaking into his voice._ “Someone! Please!”

**Hush, child.** _Whipping around, Bdubs gasped as the warmth rushed around him like the Asmian rivers. The ache in his bones eased away as his wounds healed, and he looked around._ **You must say nothing of what you have seen tonight. Do you understand?**

“What? But the others—”

**Will be in more danger if you speak. You must stay silent, my darling. Just for now.** _He felt a gentle hand cup his face, and the warmth shrouded him again and filled his lungs. Closing his eyes, he let himself drop to his knees. Taking a few breaths of the warmth, he looked up and around._

“Alright. What do you need me to do next?”

+++

When they arrived at Alvarin, two weeks after the disaster at Thylama, Grian could feel the ache in his bones as he shifted his shoulders.

The others still did not know about his wings, and he was hoping to keep it that way. At least for a little while longer. Sure, none of them had reacted the way Thylama did when it came to the Cy’Ratha, but the way that Jevin had talked about Glaedir didn’t give him any particular hope for the rest of the group. So, as they rode on, shrouded by lavender and pink morning fog as they crested yet another one of the Asmian hills, he noticed a peculiar, familiar smell in the air. Woodsmoke and…burning meat?

Freezing, he felt a chill run up his spine, and he dimly remembered the screaming he’d heard the day his home had been destroyed.

A hand settled on his wrist. Jerking, he looked over to see Mumbo holding his gaze. Concern filled the wood elf’s dark hazel eyes, and Grian let himself come back into the saddle, into reality, as best he could force himself. “Grian? Are you alright?”

“I—I—” Blinking, he looked around and took a breath. Studying the others’ faces, he forced a smile onto his face. “I’m okay. I just…I thought I smelled woodsmoke and burning meat.” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair and then took another breath. “I must have…I must have been imagining it. I’m alright, thank you.”

Iskall, who was riding beside them with Scar while the wizard chattered nonstop about his cat Jellie for the thirtieth time (and he had yet to run out of stories to tell about her, hilariously), slowed his horse down and then sniffed the air. A frown crossed his face, and then he stood up on his horse’s back. He stumbled a little bit, but didn’t fall. A frown crossed his face as his cybernetic eye whirred a few times, narrowing and zooming in. Turning as he sat back down in the saddle, he announced, “TFC, Keralis.” The two turned to look back at him and he continued, “We have a problem. There’s smoke up ahead—I think Alvarin is burning.”

“We should go help.” Zedaph said, and Tango hesitated.

“The last town we went to—”

“Is really different from Alvarin. I’ve been there before—I used to live in the circus.” Spurring his horse on, Zedaph surged ahead of the group with a shout of, “Come on! We’ve got to help!”

“Wha—Zed!” Impulse and Tango galloped ahead.

“Impulse! Tango!” Shaking his head, TFC shouted something and then hurried them all around towards the city.

When they arrived, Alvarin was indeed on fire. Grian yanked at the reins of his horse, barely even hearing the whinny of annoyance. Rearing back, it smacked its hooves down on the cobblestones a few times as thick black smoke poured into the air. For a brief moment, he was thirteen again and staring at the square of his town. “Grian! Look out!” Mumbo’s words reached his ears in time for his horse to rear up and throw him off. It galloped off, and he landed with a sharp crack in his lower arm. Pain fireworked off in his side and his wrist, and he cried out.

Above him, a skeleton on a matching horse loomed above him, a massive scimitar in hand. Staring up at it, he sucked in a breath. There was a lion’s roar somewhere in the sky above, and Grian tried to scramble back as much as he could. The skeleton rattled something out, and raised its blade to strike Grian down.

There was a shout, and a flash of metal. The skeleton dropped to the side, scimitar clattering to the earth as a boot crushed the skull under it. The horse galloped off into the flames and smoke, and Grian got a look at his rescuer. It was a short, blond mountain dwarf with a greataxe in his hands. Rolling one shoulder, the dwarf let out a hearty laugh. There was a thick scar under one of his blue eyes, and he turned and cleaved through another skeleton as it approached on its horse, slashing through the beast’s legs before taking out its rider.

The flames silhouetted him, making him look almost demonic. It didn’t help when he tipped his head back and let out a belting cackle, the half plate of his armour glinting with red and orange. “Oh, no.” Beef suddenly said as he and the others leapt from their horses.

The dwarf grinned down at them, eyes dancing with a bright, almost manic light. Blood dripped from a cut above one of his eyes, although he didn’t seem to care. Four javelins were strapped to his back, tips gleaming with bright red blood. He met their gaze and crouched down a little.

“Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is where we will leave off for today! Yes, I know, another cliffhanger. Sorry, it’s how I have to do this to y’all. Like Rick Rolling but with cliffhangers, I guess. Anyways, here’s a little thing about this next chapter: we are introducing one of the rotational characters in! That means one of the inactive hermits will be appearing. If you want to guess, feel free to do so!  
> I did a strength check when they busted the door down and it was almost a 19, then it rolled to be a 1, so apparently Thylama had the weakest fricking wooden door on their cell. Also, I’m aware that D&D has specific rules for dragons but this is also a crossover with Minecraft so heck that I’m doing what I want. It’s called homebrew.  
> Additionally, do any of you have any recipes for, like, fall snacks? I want to make some for the heck of it and I don’t know that many recipes.   
> Anyways, thank you for reading. I hope you have a lovely day. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope to see you in the next chapter!


	7. IV: Fireforge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hermits battle a bunch of monsters (whoop, prep yourself for battle my kings, queens, and monarchs) and meet one of their absent teammates. Oh, and several of them almost die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have not read “Hermitober” yet, there is a chapter that you may want to read as it has some of Hypno’s background you probably won’t get otherwise. Specifically, it is the chapter named “Dangling/Rope Burn” (so creative, eh?)  
> I hope you know that this story has now surpassed 70 pages and I haven’t even put in some of my planned scenes yet. It’s like 27000 words with the notes and everything else. [Update from when this was posted: it is 134 pages, 51700 words roughly, and most of that has come from the past couple of days]  
> Anyways, at the time of writing this note, I had two Oreos standing in between me and passing out before my parents get home. No, it’s not because my parents left me two Oreos, it’s because my brother was having a meltdown and I don’t feel like accepting the apology yet because I nearly had yet another panic attack because of it. When you’ll be reading this note, I’ll have been fine for at least a couple days.   
> Let’s jump into this with a cold open preview of the next chapter and then a recap! (Side note: there is a bit of zombie decapitation in this chapter, but it’s not who you might think it is. There are also rats in this chapter, so if anyone is scared of rats please make sure to skip over the paragraphs of Tango’s POV after he jumps down from the lightning rod).

_There was a nasty hiss from deeper in the chamber, and Grian and the others turned to see the massive shadows of the cavern ahead._

_Something emerged from the shadows, an odd growl-hiss emanating from his throat. Gunmetal grey goat horns sprouted from a deep, mahogany brown_ _mane. A long, black-scaled tail flicked. The head on the end hissed, baring sharp and thin fangs. A shiver travelled up Grian’s spine. He’d seen chimeras, and he knew exactly which kind of chimera this one was. Massive, batlike wings made of a dark, ruddy brown membrane sprouted from the light, wheat golden-brown of the creature’s lionlike body. This was one of the chimeras that King Samuel I of Glaedirian had released to slaughter the Cy’Ratha._

_Pulling itself from the shadows, it tilted its head back and roared. A burst of flames, orange and red and yellow, spurted from its maw. The fire licked at the high rock spikes spiralling down from the ceiling. Drawing itself up to its full height, the chimera looked down at them all._

_Then, it lunged._

+++

_Above him, a skeleton on a matching horse loomed above him, a massive scimitar in hand. Staring up at it, he sucked in a breath. There was a lion’s roar somewhere in the sky above, and Grian tried to scramble back as much as he could. The skeleton rattled something out, and raised its blade to strike Grian down._

_There was a shout, and a flash of metal. The skeleton dropped to the side, scimitar clattering to the earth as a boot crushed the skull under it. The horse galloped off into the flames and smoke, and Grian got a look at his rescuer. It was a short, blond mountain dwarf with a greataxe in his hands. Rolling one shoulder, the dwarf let out a hearty laugh. There was a thick scar under one of his blue eyes, and he turned and cleaved through another skeleton as it approached on its horse, slashing through the beast’s legs before taking out its rider._

_The flames silhouetted him, making him look almost demonic. It didn’t help when he tipped his head back and let out a belting cackle, the half plate of his armour glinting with red and orange. “Oh, no.” Beef suddenly said as he and the others leapt from their horses._

_The dwarf grinned down at them, eyes dancing with a bright, almost manic light. Blood dripped from a cut above one of his eyes, although he didn’t seem to care. Four javelins were strapped to his back, tips gleaming with bright red blood. He met their gaze and crouched down a little._

_“Hi.”_

+++

“Hi.”

The dwarf hefted his greataxe over one shoulder, grinning wickedly. “Beef,” Cub turned to look at the party’s already-known dwarf. “Do you know this guy?”

Sighing, Beef watched as the blond sauntered over to them with a bright grin on his face. Considering the state of everything around them, it was rather…out of place. Above their heads, the chimera flashed through the smoke clouds, and Grian felt his heart sink a little as he watched it. He swore he’d seen something like it before. “Know me? Of course _Baern Battlehammer_ knows me! I’m Biffarendd Fireforge! My family and his are battling for the Diamond of Deltaran!”

“The Diamond of Delta—” Xisuma shook his head and turned to TFC. “We don’t have time for this. Our job is to fight off any of these monsters and help anyone who’s still alive. TFC, Bdubs, Jevin, False, Tango, you’re one group. Head around to the north.” He pointed in the direction of what had to be the north, and everyone nodded without even thinking about it. “xB, Impulse, Hypno, Joe, and Mumbo, you’re another group. Head to the southeast, that’s the biggest side of Alvarin. That way.” The two groups bolted off, and Xisuma turned to everyone else. “Grian, Iskall, Cub, Beef, and you,” he pointed at Biffarendd rather than call him by name, as if he were unsure, “you head to the southwest. Stress, Etho, Scar, Doc, and Wels, I want you to take the east. Cleo, Keralis, Zedaph, and Ren, you’re with me in the west. Let’s go!”

Grian raced off with the others, hoping (and praying) that they wouldn’t encounter the beast winging through the clouds above.

As they ran deeper into the smoking, smouldering remnants of Alvarin, Grian took a few deep breaths and shook his head. _You’re not home. This isn’t home. It’s been fourteen years. You’re fine._ As they ran, he noticed the others drawing their weapons. Iskall’s shortsword and the metal studs on his armour glittered in the light. Biffarendd’s half plate and Cub’s chain mail glinted as well. Beef’s eyes were narrowed. He didn’t exactly seem happy about Biffarendd’s presence there. Whatever it was, it had to have something to do with the Diamond of Deltaran…whatever that was. _We’ll have to ask later. Now is definitely not the time_.

He heard a creak from the burnt house beside them. Turning, he yelled a warning to them and dodged to the side, grabbing his rapier and driving it towards them. The zombie grunted angrily as his rapier dug into its ribs, and he pulled back. Huffing a breath, Grian dodged back. The zombie growled, but Beef lunged in before it could attack. There were more groans and four more zombies ambled out of the flames and the house. _Oh, by the Maker._ He rolled his eyes and took a quick breath.

Beef lunged in and roared, slamming his battleaxe into the zombie’s head. The monster’s head snapped to the side and Biffa cackled raucously. “Yeah, beat him into dust!”

“Shut up.” Beef snapped angrily. The zombie lunged forwards, arms raising into the air as it smashed its hands down towards Grian’s head. He ducked to the side, feeling pain smash through his shoulder as bony, cold, rotting fists bashed down against it. Screaming, he dropped to his knees. Iskall rushed into the fray while Cub and Biffa dodged back to stand around and look at the zombies.

Iskall ducked down and around the zombie and Biffa and Grian. Slashing up with his sword, he slashed at the zombie’s neck, aiming for its head. The sword stuck, and he planted a foot on its hip and started yanking back. “Damned—sword—come on!”

Another zombie lunged forwards. Before anyone could stop it, the monster reared up and smashed its meaty claws down on Iskall’s back. There was a painful sounding _crack_ and Iskall shouted in pain, finally pulling his sword back and kicking weakly at it before stumbling back with a groan of pain. He seemed stunned but not completely taken down, sucking in a few breaths. Grian jumped back into the battle, fumbling with his sword but still managing to drive the thin blade into the zombie’s spine. It growled, grabbed his arm, and Grian stared up at it in a panic.

This time, Cub lunged in with his longsword, slashing in an arc at the first zombies. The first one roared angrily as he managed to gash deep into its shoulder. Meanwhile, the blade cleaved through and drove deep into its neck until it drove through. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Cub stepped back.

“Nice job, boy!” Biffarendd shouted, and Cub smiled awkwardly. Now, the blond dward finally stepped in, swinging his greataxe at the zombie closest to him. It stumbled back as a reaction, and his blade swung over it. Swearing, Biffarendd stared up at it as it raised its arms. It slammed its hands down and stumbled forwards, and Beef lunged forward to take the fight again.

Hammer glinting in the firelight, Beef smashed it into the zombie’s jaw. Its head snapped back again and it stumbled backwards before falling back on its tail end. Iskall snapped back in for his own chance, but apparently the previous injury was still hurting him. He dodged in, then grunted and overbalanced, shoulder colliding with the burnt wall beside him. It crumbled and gave way, and he fell into the house with a yell of pain as the embers fell up in a cloud around him. “Iskall!” Grian yelled, turning to the zombie with wide eyes. It lunged again, and he felt its hand collide with his chest. Deep claws slashed down through his armour, nicking his neck. Pressing a hand to the injury, he stumbled back and then turned as he heard another zombie approach. Its dead eyes focused on him, and it aimed with a clawed fist. He ducked to the side, but its claws still dug into his shoulder and drew blood. Panting, he took a few shaky breaths.

“You alright, Grian?” Cub asked, and Grian nodded weakly. Shaking his head—every time he blinked, he wasn’t facing off with the zombie but instead an assassin with a curved blade in each hand—Grian jumped back into the fight. His rapier drove deep into the beast’s chest. Whether it was ready to collapse or if he had managed to sever its spine, he wasn’t sure. Either way, the zombie dropped to its knees and then the ashy ground beneath them. Grian wheezed and took a step back, pressing a hand to his neck.

That zombie tried to approach, dragging itself forward with a low groan. Cub jumped in between them. He slashed down, and the zombie let out a guttural noise as he drove the point of the blade through its skull. It was pinned to the ground. Moments later, it stopped moving, and Cub turned to look back at Grian. “Th-than-thanks.” Swaying slightly, Grian pressed a hand to his neck and wavered a little more, squeezing his eyes shut. Iskall hauled himself out of the building, embers scattering from his armour and he growled angrily.

Biffarendd took his greataxe and lunged for one of the three remaining zombies. He bashed it into the one that had injured Iskall, grinning wickedly. Grunting, the zombie toppled to the side, one arm falling loose from its body and then wriggling around on the ground before finally stilling.

Angrily, the zombie tackled him and bashed at his head, and he cackled viciously even as blood spurted from the injury to his forehead. “You need to try better than that to bring a barbarian down!” He roared, and Grian stumbled back when the last two zombies swung for him and Cub. The first one missed, stumbling to the side and falling on its face. The other, meanwhile, kept running to the side and went for Iskall. He dodged aside in time for the zombie to go crashing through the house he’d gone into.

Scoffing, the assassin laughed, “Serves you right, stupid monster.”

Beef attacked for the single standing monster, swinging his hammer. It knocked the zombie’s head into the shadows, and Beef groaned in displeasure. Biffarendd started cackling again. Iskall sprang into the fight, aiming for one of the last two zombies. He drove his sword up into its neck, threw it to the side, and the zombie stumbled back with a hateful growl. He roared right back at it. Grian stumbled towards the zombies as a sudden dizzy spell washed over him. He crumpled to the ground, Cub holding his side and helping him down as gently as possible. Grabbing his longsword, Cub slashed up above their heads, but Grian was too overwhelmed by a sudden coughing fit. Something hot and red dribbled past his lips as he clutched onto his neck. Things were starting to get a little blurry, and he heard some snarling from the zombies. One of the zombies dropped to its side, and Biffa lunged in to attack it with his greataxe. The zombie snarled a few times.

“Grian. Grian, focus on me, focus on me.” Cub rolled him over onto his back. He wheezed, feeling his body throbbing all around him. Dark blue eyes stared down at him, concern painting them even as the fire flickered across Cub’s face. “You’re alright, you’re alright.” One of his massive hands pressed to Grian’s neck. “Take them down, he’s hurt!”

“On it!” Beef growled in anger as he must have missed. Black dots dodged around Grian’s vision and he grabbed weakly for Cub’s wrist. Iskall roared, and Biffarendd cheered as one of the zombies must have died. Or been taken out. Cub’s hands were covered in blood—Grian’s blood, he realised with a sickening feeling. He’d escaped everything else in his life, been saved from the destruction of Thylama and the threat of hanging, only to die bleeding out on the dirt fighting some stupid _zombies_.

“Gods, Grian.” Eyes darting to him, Cub smiled weakly and reassured, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. We’ve got you.” The last zombie fell, and Cub glanced up. “Biffarendd—”

“Call me Biffa—”

“Biffa. Can you heal? Do you have a healer’s kit?” Sound began to fade out and Grian took a few quick breaths. “Grian. Grian, hold on!” Hands shook him and he blinked a few times, a low groan of pain coming from his mouth. “Damnit! Do any of you know healing?”

“I-I mean—I might have a healing potion,” Iskall stumbled out, crouching down beside Grian and searching frantically through his satchel. Cub’s hand cupped the back of Grian’s head. “Come on, come _on_ —” Voices faded out, and Grian clawed at the grip of consciousness. He was losing, he was dying, he couldn’t— _NO, I am_ not _dying. Not like this!_ “I got it! Healer’s kit!”

“Come on, Grian. Keep fighting, we’ve got you.” Cub murmured. Meanwhile, Biffa and Beef were fighting over something in the background. Maybe it was their actions, maybe it was something else. Grian didn’t know. There was movement and bandages wrapped his shoulder.

Everything faded out, and Grian dropped into unconsciousness as Cub and Iskall shouted to him to stay with them.

+++

“Mumbo, get down!”

Fists slammed down hard on Mumbo’s back and he was thrown to the smoky dirt before he even had the chance to react. Rolling over, he looked up to see a zombie looming above him. Panting, he jumped to his feet and dodged back to the others. “Stay close but be ready. Weapons out!” Joe warned, pulling out his accordion, as they all stood back to back. There were five monsters—three zombies and two skeletons.

One of the zombies snapped forwards, holding a wickedly-curved shortsword made of bone or some similar material. It went for Joe, who calmly stared it down. Its sword slashed down his arm, and he glared at it. “Joe!” Impulse shouted nervously.

Meanwhile, Joe bristled a little bit. “My turn.” His voice suddenly dropped, and he snarled something in what Mumbo guessed was Draconic.

Beside him, Impulse frowned and whispered in confusion, “You’re going to drink from his skull? That sounds unsanitary.” The skeleton’s head jerked to the side and it rattled in displeasure. Joe grinned, a dark look on his face, and he hissed something as well. Next to Mumbo, Impulse cursed in shock a few times.

xB stepped in, aiming for the zombie closest to him. It rattled again and dodged to the side, stepping back and pulling its bow from its back. xB’s eyes widened as it prepared to nock an arrow. Hypno began preparing for something beside him. Meanwhile, one of the other zombies decided to step in. It slashed at xB, and he just noticed in time to take a nick to the shoulder.

The skeleton with the bow fired. “xB!” Mumbo shouted, and the halfling glanced over. The arrow shot for his skull—

—and then it stopped.

Hypno snapped the arrow in half, staring the skeleton down with dark eyes. There was no emotion there. “Whoa.” xB breathed, staring at the arrow point where it was two inches from his eye. “Th-thank you.” With a nod, their mute monk threw the arrow to the ground and then dropped into a fighting stance.

“My turn.” Impulse snapped forwards, aiming for the skeleton with the bow. Slashing both swords in quick succession, he slashed right through its ribs twice, and the skeleton stumbled back and growled angrily. “Yeah, you better think twice!”

One of the zombies lunged and tackled Impulse, knocking him to the side. He tried to keep standing, but the zombie shoved at him even further and smashed him into the flaming wall of one of the houses. Mumbo stared after him for a moment, then saw one of the zombies nearby and reacted with a yelp. He had his crossbow in hand already, and stumbled away (the zombie gave him a fright, he wouldn’t lie. He wasn’t just trying to get range on the thing).

Since he was fumbling, though, he barely managed to load the bolt and shoot it off at the right thing. The zombie growled as it took the bolt to the eye, though it didn’t really do as much harm as he’d like. “Don’t worry, Mumbo, it was a good shot!” xB called, and Mumbo glanced over with a grimace.

The zombie lunged again, and Mumbo screamed shamelessly as it did. With one crossbow bolt sticking out of its eye and the rotted flesh on the right side of its head burning away, calling it terrifying was an understatement. It looked like a demon from hell. He dodged away from it as it sprinted forwards. _Good thing it’s slow!_ He thought, panting nervously.

The skeleton then moved in, aiming for Joe. He stared it down as it stumbled the side, then snapped into movement with his longsword. Driving the blade into its spine, he twisted and whispered something. The skeleton stumbled back, groaning as it crumbled into smoky dust. Snorting, Joe did a flourish with his sword before turning to the zombie that had lunged for Mumbo. Pointing his blade at it, he snarled, “You’re next.”

The zombie snarled right back, as did the one beside xB and Hypno. xB jumped back into battle, jumping onto Hypno’s shoulders and then onto the building beside them. Balancing precariously on one of the less-burned parts of the roof, he pulled back his bow and shot it. The string twanged, snapped at short range, and smacked back to hit xB in the face. Shaking his head, the halfling cried out and grabbed his face. However, Mumbo swore he saw a burst of faint golden light—or perhaps it was just a flicker of flames off of the arrowhead or the shaft. It hit the zombie in the throat, causing it to fall back. It jerked one, then went still.

Hypno lunged in and ducked under the next zombie’s first strike, jumping up and kicking at its head. It growled, some of its teeth flying loose, and then grabbed his foot. A sharp gasp rattled through the young man’s throat, and the zombie grabbed his ankle and spun to slam him into the wall. With a loud, painful sounding grunt, Hypno dropped to the ground as the zombie released him and then rolled to his feet. Dropping into fighting position, he glared at the zombie and held his arms in front of his face.

Meanwhile, the remaining skeleton jumped in. Slashing its sword down at Hypno, it stumbled forwards and then bashed headfirst into the building. Impulse staggered out of the burning doorway, wiping blood off of his upper lip where it dripped from his nose, then shook his head and glanced around. Grabbing the skeleton, he pulled out his shortsword and drove it into the spine so hard Mumbo could see the blade’s point sprouting through its armour. Drawing back as it crumbled into dust, he wiped it off and mumbled, “Stupid monsters.”

Mumbo, meanwhile, pulled the string back on his crossbow and aimed for the last standing monster, a zombie. It growled as his bolt snapped into its shoulder, clearly not doing much damage. “Oof. Is that on me?” He asked, glancing around.

“We’ll figure it out later!” xB yelled from the roof. Hypno nodded, although Mumbo wasn’t sure if it was in agreement or something else. Ducking his head, he stared at the ground. **_Not the time to pout, Jumbolio! Pay attention!_** A voice warned in his head, and he glanced up in shock. No one else had spoken—he didn’t recognise the voice, but he knew it from somewhere. But how?

_Not the time, Mumbo. Focus._ He didn’t know why it had called him _Jumbolio_ , though. No one referred to him that way.

Joe stepped towards the zombie and flashed the blade of his longsword in the firelight. “Undeath does not suit you, my friend. It seems that you must be returned to the dust from whence you came.” He slashed at it twice, striking a long gash in its stomach and another along its ribs. However, the zombie did not fall. It ambled forwards—and was promptly stopped short when xB dropped down on its shoulders.

Producing his shortswords, xB overbalanced and hit the ground hard. Hypno struck in before the zombie could attack, punching it twice in the chest. It stumbled back with a hoarse, rattling growl. Lunging forwards, it raised its fists to attack, and Hypno quickly dodged to the side. Impulse stepped in again, shortsword in each hand. With two quick slashes, he sent the zombie to the ground with a kick in the back. It stumbled forwards, jerked once as it hit the ground…and then got back up. “Are you kidding me?” Impulse snapped. Before anyone could do much more, Mumbo nocked another bolt and then shot it into the zombie’s head. Its head snapped back and it dropped to the ground.

Moments of silence passed, and Mumbo glanced at the others when the zombie did not get back up. “Did I do that?” He asked, and Joe stabbed the zombie in the neck so it couldn’t move. Tilting his head to the side, the bard looked up, nodded, and then clapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

“Nice job, Mumbo. Looks like you killed your first monster.”

“I did?” Stammering, Mumbo glanced down and then excitedly said, “I did!” The others chuckled.

“Stop right there!” Turning, they saw a young, armoured wood elf standing in the roadway. She had an arrow nocked, aiming for Joe’s heart. “Who goes there?”

_Oh, no._

+++

Scar and the others were set upon by monsters almost immediately.

Thankfully, it seemed like the east wasn’t very heavily populated with monsters. Stress immediately jumped back behind Etho as the three skeletons ambled into view, eyes dark. One of them was astride a skeletal horse, which snorted and pawed at the air. _But how does it snort if it doesn’t have lungs? How does it move?_ Scar wondered, noticing the little flecks of necromantic magic dancing along the barren, clean-picked bones of the skeletons and the horse.

Doc was the first to jump into action. Running forwards, he grabbed the arm of one of the skeletons—the one on the horse—and planted his hand on the horse’s shoulder as well. The horse reared up and slammed a hoof down on Doc’s head as it crumbled into dust. The skeleton fell to the ground, twitching for a few moments as necrotic damage coursed through its systems. Doc’s own magic, shades of green, snapped at the bluish-purple flecks for a few moments.

One of the other skeletons swung at Doc with its sword, while the others regarded him with confusion. It was as if they’d never seen a Cryor, particularly not a part-cybernetic one. At the very least, they probably had thought he would have been on their side. It swung at him, missing entirely. Whether it was simply bad luck or something else, Scar wasn’t sure.

Then the other still-standing skeleton swung, bashing its sword into Doc’s back and sending him staggering forwards with a grunt. Dark green and teal blood dripped from the injuries to his back. Doubling over, he coughed out some more blood and then looked at the others. His cybernetic eye was fritzing out, and he pressed a hand to it.

The last skeleton stumbled to its feet, then tried to throw itself at Doc. He dodged to the side weakly, but it didn’t seem to matter. The skeleton went running past him…and then slammed into Wels. They both went into the flames behind them with a rattling roar and a yelp from the young man. “Wels!”

From where he was struggling with the skeleton on a bare patch of land inside what was now a circle of flames, Wels yelled, “I’m fine! I’ll be out in a second, I promise—this armour’s really good!” As if to prove this, he punched the skeleton in the face, and its head snapped to the side and spun on its spine before settling backwards. Grinning reassuringly at her, he flipped the visor down and then charged back into the fray.

Etho ran into the fray, lunging for the skeleton that had managed to hit Doc. It had its sword out already, raised to slash at Doc. Instead of hitting it, though, Etho threw himself between them and managed to take a slash to the stomach. Wincing, he tried jamming his dagger into the skeleton’s body, but missed. Cursing, he stumbled back, then straightened up. “Stress, come help Doc if you can! At least get him out of target range!”

“R-right!” She darted over and touched Doc’s arm. He tried to wave her off. Holding on stubbornly, she whispered something. A soft pink light danced over the two of them from her hands. Doc glanced over at her, eyes widening a little bit.

“Thank you. I could have healed myself, you know.” He murmured, and she shrugged.

“After that spell, I think it’d be better for you to fight. I’m not good with combat.” Etho snorted, but Scar wasn’t sure if he was disbelieving or agreeing with her.

“Everyone move!” Scar yelled, fire burning up in his hands. Grinning wickedly, he added, “I’m about to cast fire bolt.”

“Scar, no!” Wels shouted from where he was, and Scar darted forwards.

What happened, Scar wasn’t sure. He had meant to cast fire bolt. Of course, something probably went wrong, because everyone started screaming as the fire lashed around them and he _definitely had not cast fire bolt._ Wels let out a bellowing roar where he was, and there was an odd reverb to it. Sitting up, he brushed some flames off his cloak, winced when he saw a burn on his dominant hand, and then glanced around. The flame circle around Wels had burned brighter, raging like a small inferno.

_“Scar! Careful!”_ Doc snapped, running forwards and planting his hands on each of the skeletons’ chests. They both disappeared into dust. Turning to Scar, the Cryor cleric began yelling, “You could have killed all of us! What the hell was that?”

Holding out his hands, Scar stammered out. “I-I’m sorry. I must have—that usually works just fine—”

“Well, it _didn’t!_ What would have happened if you’ve caused too much damage?”

Stress grabbed at Doc’s arm and he yanked away from her. “Doc, Scar, this really isn’t the time.” Beside them, Etho prepped for battle, adjusting his mask higher on his face.

“You could have killed everyone! That was reckless and—”

There was a guttural roar from the circle of flames behind them. Turning, they all spotted Wels holding the sides of his head in the middle of the flames, panting and sucking in one breath after the other. It was almost like he was…fighting something. “What’s going on?” Scar asked, slipping forwards.

Cracking his eyes open, Wels waved a hand. “No, sta—stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

“Wels!” Stress tried to jump forwards. Thinking quicker than the others, Etho grabbed onto her and pulled her back, shaking his head in a quick warning. Looking to him with wide eyes, she glanced back at Wels where he was in the circle of flames.

Something hot and blue danced around him. “What is that?” Scar asked, looking to Doc. “A demon?”

“Maybe a quasit. An imp? I’ve never seen one doing that, though.” Doc bit his knuckle, sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. Meanwhile, in the circle, Wels grabbed at the sides of his helmet and looked up. His eyes flashed blue for a moment, so bright that Scar could see them behind his helmet. Then, he shook his head and roared something. The sound was inhuman, something terrifying and demonic. _Like something right out of hell._

“You’re not doing this!” Wels shouted, holding onto the sides of his head. Snarling, he clawed at the bottom of his helmet, shaking his head and mumbling something to himself. Under his armour, his ribs and chest were heaving as he sucked in breath after breath of the smoky air. There was no sign of the other skeleton, so it must have been destroyed. Whether it was by the flames, Wels, or even whatever was messing with their paladin right now, Scar had no idea. There was another burst where the flames seemed to grow even stronger, and then…they started to die down.

Wels dropped to his hands and knees, panting loudly. All of a sudden, the flames around them died out, and he sucked in a few weak breaths before pulling off his helmet. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and Stress pulled free from Etho to run over and check him over. “Wels!”

“I’m okay…I’m okay…” Taking a few breaths, Wels sat up and then looked at the dying flames around them. “Whatever that was, it’s gone now.”

As far as Scar could tell, and as far as what the others’ expressions gave away, Wels wasn’t lying.

+++

The north was quiet—almost too quiet.

From the way the flames had died down so suddenly, almost immediately, it had to be magic of some sort. What kind, Tango wasn’t sure. Either way, the others had told him to climb up on top of a burning building and look around. “Yes, Tango, we’re going to have you climb to the top of a burning building and look around. Yes, Tango, it’s because you have fire resistance. Yes, Tango, we know you’re a tiefling but that’s not why you’re doing this.” (The building wasn’t actually burning anymore.)

**_Shut up, you volunteered for this._** The familiar, slightly nagging voice teased in the back of his head. Gripping the lightning rod behind him with his tail and one hand and swinging around to look around at Alvarin for any sign of life, the others, or more monsters, he grinned.

“Yeah I did.” Glancing around, he looked at the roads. Most of the buildings further into the woods—apparently Alvarin had two halves—had actually been saved, including a large barn where Xisuma would have gone. It loomed over the others, and he could see a lot of movement in the dim dusk light. Wherever the fire-breathing, flying monster (a manticore? A chimera? He wasn’t sure) was, it sure wasn’t in Alvarin anymore. As far as he could tell, neither were the monsters.

There was movement by the barn, but he was pretty sure he saw the flash of armour and what he thought might have been magic of some sort. Not the kind like the skeletons that they’d seen earlier. No, this was something else. He just wasn’t sure what, exactly.

“What do you see, Tango?” TFC shouted up to him. Turning to try and squint in the direction of the barn, Tango took a breath and then replied.

“Not much monsters. The big one is gone, too.” He swore he heard False mutter something beneath him about grammar. Rolling his eyes, Tango held onto the rod and then swung around to look at the bright orange sky. It was going to rain later. “We should probably get heading that way. More movement, probably humans.”

“Which way?”

“The barn!” He pointed with his free hand, then let it return to shielding his eyes once more. The clouds were an inky purple colour, and he took a quiet breath after a moment. “I don’t see anything else! I’ll make my way down to you.”

When he landed on the ground, the building erupted not in flames, but in _rats._

One of them scrabbled over his tail. False squealed and whipped her sword out, and Tango slashed his tail in a loop on sheer response. Several of the rats went flying into the wall, where they immediately died. Others started attacking. “Angry rats! Why are they angry?!” Bdubs yelled, smacking at them with his staff. He hit at least six of them, but the smoked rats kept pouring out of the house without end. Tango swung his tail in a quick arc again, sending more flying, and the rats swarmed his tail and started biting it.

“Ow!” Lashing his tail, he threw more of them off and took a breath. False kicked at one, and Tango jumped back to perch on the windowsill. More of the rats swarmed beneath them, and False and Jevin both kicked at them. The half-Visho succeeded in punting one of the rats into the wall. Another rat bit at Tango’s tailtip, and he jerked it out of the way before pulling some bandages from his bag and swiftly tending to the little bleeding bites. “Stupid little monsters. I _hate_ rats.”

TFC sighed and then slammed his staff on the ground. A burst of white and black magic swirled around their feet, disintegrating the rats upon touching them. “Let’s go, all of you. Where was this barn of yours, Tango?” He pointed, and TFC began leading the way. As they walked away from the rat house, Tango glanced back a few times and then looked ahead at the barn.

_Let’s hope this isn’t a repeat of Thylama._

+++

The residents of Alvarin had survived—mostly.

As Xisuma led the rest of his group through the barn, carrying supplies and helping who they could, he couldn’t help but glance around. The monster they’d seen in the smoke earlier—a chimera—had done significant amounts of damage. It’d left bodies behind, and a lot of them. Some of the people were holding stuff that they’d managed to grab before retreating to the rest of Alvarin, which was hidden in the Metal Woods. _You should have known that._ He mused, glancing out at the spindly, tall spires of trees in the distance. They were called bronzelings, pure bronze trees that grew naturally but did not behave naturally. They didn’t heat up like metal would, they bore naturally golden apples that had special attributes the wizards of Allecos were still researching even two centuries after the discovery.

Cleo and Ren spoke quietly to one another as they walked behind him. Keralis was talking to Zedaph, reassuring the young man that this was nothing like Thylama. “I’ve been to Alvarin in the past. It’s a nice place, I promise.”

As they followed the young half-elf woman who’d found them, Heather Ant, Xisuma noticed people watching them. He knew they were an odd group. He had his helmet. Zedaph’s eyes were a bright violet. Ren was a massive ranger, and Cleo had green skin. Keralis was probably the most normal of all of them. There was no sense of the hate that the people of Thylama had given the rest of them, however. There was hope. Inspiration.

Keralis strode up and touched Xisuma’s shoulder, and he paused for a second to look back at him. “Yes, Keralis?”

“The others are here.” He nodded ahead. Heather was leading them to a group of people gathered in one of the corners. Sure enough, he saw most of the groups. Grian, Cub, Iskall, Beef, and their new ally Biffarendd were all absent, however. A sinking feeling rose in X’s stomach, and Keralis quickly quelled it. “I’m sure they’re just trying to find their way to us. After all, it’s not exactly easy to find your way through Alvarin on a normal day. When it’s burning and infested with monsters, that’s another thing entirely.”

Xisuma looked at him. “Keralis—”

“Xisuma. You need to trust me.” X took a long breath as they walked, closed his eyes for a moment, and then sighed it out.

“Alright. I trust you.” Keralis smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Good one, Shishwammy.” Rolling his eyes at the nickname, Xisuma kept walking. They arrived at where the others were to find another young woman there. Heather immediately went to her, and they embraced before the new one pulled Heather into a kiss.

Pulling away with a short laugh, Heather turned to Xisuma and his group and said, “Xisuma, friends, this is my wife, Kyrellin.”

Kyrellin, a wood elf, strode forwards and smiled, tilting her head to the side. There was an odd light to her green eyes, almost like she didn’t quite know what to think of X or the others. “Nice to meet you, Xisuma. Call me Kyrie.”

“Alright, Kyrie.” Turning to the others, he asked, “Where’s Cub and the others?” An open draft came through the thrown-open barn doors beside them. No one answered him. Fronwing, he glanced over their faces. _No one knows where they are?_ “Did anyone meet up with them?” He looked out the door with wide eyes, where dust was gathering up outside the barn, then looked to everyone else and Keralis. Stress stepped forwards, opened her mouth to say something and then shut it. In Xisuma’s stomach, the panic he’d been feeling moments before reared up to full height, sharp and angry and _terrifying._ “Where are Cub and the others?” Stress’ eyes darted past his shoulder, and he frowned. “Stress?”

Reaching up, she touched one hand to her mouth and whispered, “Oh, gods.” Turning, Xisuma followed her gaze. Walking out of the haze of smoke and dust, Cub and Iskall and Biffarendd and Beef strode out of the clouds. Dangling from Cub’s arms was a small form, their head laid against the fighter’s shoulder and one hand dangling in the air. All of them were bloodied, Iskall was coated in soot and wood ash and died-out embers. Small spatters of blood coated his armour, but it was nothing compared to Grian or Cub’s absolute massacre on the front of their shirts.

“Grian!” Scar yelled, running over. _I did that,_ Xisuma realised with a start as he stared at the young man where he dangled in Cub’s arms. Cub gently set him down on a blanket, and Mumbo wandered over as well as Scar pressed a hand to his friend’s forehead. “What happened?”

“Zombies. One of them caught his neck. He’s stable, but…” Cub glanced at the rest of his team. At his side, Xisuma felt Keralis’ hand settle on his shoulder. He turned to look at the druid.

“You couldn’t have known this would happen, Xisuma.”

“I—I picked the teams, Keralis. I didn’t give them a healer.”

“Then learn from the mistake. Don’t blame yourself for it.” Keralis nodded at the group, and Xisuma watched as Wels stepped in and gently moved Scar, who was panicking over his friend, aside. “They’re not invulnerable, but they are not defenceless. They can handle themselves. Besides, they trust you.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t.” Xisuma looked down at the ground. An elbow jabbed him in the ribs, and he glanced over. Keralis turned X’s jaw so he was looking at the others again. Wels had cast Cure Wounds, judging by the faint glow at his fingertips. Grian’s face relaxed as his injuries healed, and Cub carefully wrapped him in the blanket before picking him up once more.

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Trust the World Maker. Besides,” Keralis turned to him again and smirked, adding, “You haven’t gotten _me_ killed. Now, let’s go check on Grian.”

And with that, the druid wandered off towards the others, leaving Xisuma standing there rather dumbly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is where this chapter is leaving off for today! Sorry it couldn’t be longer, I was writing this on Sunday and I’m getting tired. I still have a lot of work to finish up with theatre, and then I have The Magic Paintbrush (my actual book series, name written here so that later you know I was *not* just giving an excuse, I am not promoting it in any way shape or form because it has not been published yet so there is no possible way for me to make money off of it) to edit and publish.   
> Next chapter, we will be getting on to the chimera. I thought this was just a good place to end. Anyways, I do have some other angsty chapters planned out already, and we’ll get around to those soon. We also have some drama to deal with between Biffa and Beef. Because, y’know, they kind of…they kind of have some beef with one another, or at least Beef has…beef with…I’m going to stop now I’m confusing myself.  
> Anyways, thank you for reading! Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope you have an amazing weekend! Hope to see you in the next one!


	8. V: Three Birds, One Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our lovely adventurers recover, find out some backstory for Beef and Biffa and why the former does *not* like the latter, and then begin their adventure into the caverns of the Metal Woods. There, they encounter the beast that set Alvarin on fire—the chimera—and fight it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brothers and their friend are playing Christmas music (it is currently November 1st) and I just realised I have to homebrew a chimera. Yes, I could have used the D&D one, but I decided to make my own monster because whatever I wanted to. Also, this is the point where the manuscript was at 88 pages and I started writing this about two days before the first chapter was published. Minus possibly one day due to the fact Ao3 switches days 7 hours earlier (it switches at 5pm for me).  
> Also I got a new .5mm pencil—actually I got four of them—so now I don’t have to worry about the cap flying off in the middle of writing or gesturing! Additionally, minor note, the country is Glaedir, not Glaedirian, but I'm currently too lazy to go back and fix it so if you see any minor updates in the future when you look through your history, that's probably what I fixed!  
> Now, let’s jump into this fic with the same cold open as last time (it’ll repeat again, sorry) because I am unoriginal and kind of burnt out at the moment!

_Many Hours From Now…_

_There was a nasty hiss from deeper in the chamber, and Grian and the others turned to see the massive shadows of the cavern ahead._

_Something emerged from the shadows, an odd growl-hiss emanating from his throat. Gunmetal grey goat horns sprouted from a deep, mahogany brown mane. A long, black-scaled tail flicked. The head on the end hissed, baring sharp and thin fangs. A shiver travelled up Grian’s spine. He’d seen chimeras, and he knew exactly which kind of chimera this one was. Massive, batlike wings made of a dark, ruddy brown membrane sprouted from the light, wheat golden-brown of the creature’s lionlike body. This was one of the chimeras that King Samuel I of Glaedirian had released to slaughter the Cy’Ratha._

_Pulling itself from the shadows, it tilted its head back and roared. A burst of flames, orange and red and yellow, spurted from its maw. The fire licked at the high rock spikes spiralling down from the ceiling. Drawing itself up to its full height, the chimera looked down at them all._

_Then, it lunged._

+++

When they had managed to settle down for the night in their own corner of the barn, the moon rising above them all, everyone’s attention was on Biffa and Beef.

Or, almost everyone. Ren and Cleo were both staring out at the sky, where the silver face of the moon hung like a claw of alabaster in the dark ultramarine blue of the sky. Concern painted her face, and she glanced over at him once. However, Ren’s expression was a canvas of blank nothingness, like a new map a cartographer had yet to touch. Grian was lying on his back, still recovering from nearly being killed by a zombie earlier that day. Some of the Alvarin villagers had found their horses and brought them over so the gang could set up their bedrolls for the night. So now everyone was curled up in their own little areas, and one of Grian’s arms was laid across his stomach. Taking a breath, he closed his eyes and settled into the blankets. Meanwhile, Stress went over and hesitantly carded her fingers through his hair. Jumping, he glanced over with wide eyes, then seemed to relax when she jerked her hands away. “It’s okay, you can do that. I don’t really mind. Just a little…shocked.”

Stress nodded, then carefully started braiding some of Grian’s hair. He didn’t seem to worry about it. Of course, since the drama of the day had died down, Tango had apparently decided they all needed a distraction.

“So…Biffa, Beef…” Tilting his head to the side, Tango flicked his tail as he lounged back on his arms. A wicked, toothy grin crossed his face, and he asked, “what’s the beef between you two? With that…Diamond? Of…Dettera? Dallora?”

“Deltaran.” Beef replied, whilst Biffa began cackling at the pun. Tango grinned, tail flicking again. With a sigh, Beef began. “The Diamond of Deltaran is something of an…argument between three of the Vanderhault dwarf clans.”

“Wait, Vanderhault?” Frowning, Zedaph glanced at the others, and Beef nodded. However, Biffa was the one who replied.

“Our name for the Silver Heights. Not so commonly spoken, though.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Beef shot a look at Biffa, as if to tell him to shut up. “The clans are my clan, Battlehammer, Biffa’s clan, Fireforge, and then with the joint clan of Ironfist-Baldric. The clan leader of Ironfist-Baldric, Eldeth of Deltara, was the one to find the Diamond about three hundred years ago when she was forty-five.”

“Wait, how old are the two of you?”

“Several decades older than _this one_.” Beef looked over with narrowed eyes, and Biffa smiled cheerfully.

“I am fifty-seven!”

“That’s young for dwarves.” Grian said quietly, and Beef nodded. “Anyways, the Diamond?”

Sighing, Beef pulled out his hammer and began polishing the end of it. Biffa did the same with his massive greataxe, a soft grin painting his face. “The Diamond is…it’s really important. Don’t get me wrong, I _am_ looking for the Cursed Crown and I am fully committed to the search, but I’m going to look for the Diamond at the same time.”

“But that…doesn’t really answer everything. Are you okay with telling us why you’re looking for it in the first place?” Xisuma asked, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking incredibly young. He still had his helm on, so they couldn’t tell much about his face. _I wonder what’s under the helmet._ Tango mused, watching the young man curiously from the corner of his eye. _Can he even take it off, or is it something that he needs to survive?_ Taking a breath, he sighed once and then settled back.

“Whoever gets the Diamond of Deltaran first and brings it back to Eldeth Ironfist-Baldric gets to marry Heldain, Eldeth’s grandchild.” Reaching over, Biffa elbowed Beef in the ribs, completely oblivious to the disgusted look on the other man’s face.

“Heldain and I have been friends since we were twenty. Childhood sweethearts.” Shrugging, he took a breath and added, “Heldain asked Eldeth to do that, they didn’t want to drive a wedge between the three of us but neither Heldain nor I are polyamorous.” Tango nodded.

“Good reasoning. Well, since I made it awkward and I found out what I wanted to, I’m going to go to bed.” Turning, he rolled over and laid down, although he could still hear the others talking about the Metal Woods as everyone settled down.

As far as Tango knew, the Metal Woods were known all across the continent. They were unique, never heated up even when the sun was hot and the trunks should have been burning. They grew leaves made of copper and brass and bronze, and the trunks were built of some sort of silvery metal, possibly aluminium or something else. Golden apples dripped from the branches in every season, shimmering and beautiful and mysterious all at once. That wasn’t where the difference in the stories came from.

The stories behind them, the origins of the woods, _that_ was where things changed. Some supposed that it was made by the gods, a sacred grove that had remained even when the gods left the earth behind. Others believed they had been built by mages or witches, a protection and a gift. Made for Alvarin.

It didn’t matter either way, Tango mused as the others _finally_ settled down. Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the dark eaves of the barn above their heads. A white dove was perched there, feathers a blinding white in the moonlight streaming in through the window at the top of the wall. Fluttering its wings, it shook quickly and then tipped its head down to look at him with dark eyes.

Closing his eyes, he took a long breath and let himself drift into unconsciousness.

+++

The next morning, Xisuma and Keralis were helping Kyrie and Heather fix the roof of one of the burnt houses.

Kyrie was a young ranger with dark, chocolate brown hair and bright eyes. She had a soft smile and currently wore a dark green shirt, brown trousers, and black boots. Around her neck, a thin gold chain held what appeared to be a wedding band (hers from her marriage to Heather) and the symbol of one of the elven gods. In all of Xisuma’s years, which seemed both incredibly long and incredibly short (he didn’t remember much when he thought about it. Whether that was because _he_ didn’t want to remember or if someone else didn’t want him to remember, he wasn’t sure, but that was the way things were).

Taking a breath, Xisuma picked up another roofing slat and helped Keralis secure it in place. “So, Kyrie,” Keralis panted, straightening up and wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of one hand, “what’s with this chimera? Don’t they usually travel in packs or something?”

Down below on the cobblestones, Shadow snorted where she was pulling a cart of the roofing material. It was some sort of stone of sorts. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but he wasn’t exactly a carpenter. With a sigh, Xisuma reached for his water flask and took a long swig, glancing up at the sun beating down on them from the cyan sky above. Kyrie seemed to decide it was time to take a break as well, glancing down at her companion, a panther named Mica. “They don’t travel in packs, they travel in prides, but yes. This one, as far as we can tell, is a juvenile male that was chased from its home pride—probably in Glaedir, long way to travel from here. So now it’s taken up residence in the Metal Woods that way.” She pointed to the Metal Woods, then wiped the back of her mouth after taking a drink.

Heather strode by on the pathway, and she wolf whistled at her wife. Rolling her eyes, Kyrie gave her a friendly middle finger and then blew a kiss at her. “You two are adorable.” Cleo chuckled as she made her way across the crossbeam to grab some more roof slats. Kyrie watched her wife saunter away, and Xisuma decided to count how many more roofing slats they’d need for the sixth time that day.

“Hmm, I suppose.” Turning back to them with a sigh, Kyrie mused, “If you’re going to go after the chimera—and I have a nasty feeling you hero-types are going to try, then make sure you keep watch of its tail. Its got a nasty bite—some kind of cobra. We sent a hunting party in after it and it bit some of the party members. Most of them made it, but Heather’s sibling Sedge died from the venom.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Kyrie shrugged. “It happens sometimes. Besides, I’m pretty sure they reincarnated somewhere else, some half-bit mage came by and tried to resurrect them and messed up.” Waving a hand, she added, “It doesn’t matter anyways. They’re happy where they are.”

“Well, that’s something.” Keralis held out his hand, and a raven with feathers the same dark shade as midnight fluttered over and alighted on his arm. Smiling, he reached up with his other hand and rubbed the bird’s head. It clicked its beak and then nuzzled his neck. “But thank you for the information. We’ll keep that in mind for when we go after this. No payment necessary.”

“Other than food and board, obviously.” Kyrie mused, and Keralis smiled at her quietly.

“I am _not_ sitting down!” Grian’s voice echoed through the alleys, and Xisuma and the others looked to see the young man limping along the cobblestones. Iskall and Mumbo were following him. “I am perfectly fine!”

Grian whacked into the wall and stumbled to the side, mumbling under his breath.

Reaching for his arm, Iskall said, “I don’t think you are, angel.” Grian flinched at the nickname, and both Iskall and Mumbo seemed to pick up on it. Turning, Grian yanked away and stumbled back twice.

“No. Stop it! I’m _fine_ —” He let out a yelp when he bumped into Scar, who pulled out what Xisuma was pretty sure was a small iron bar. Saying something, Scar tapped Grian on the forehead. “No! Don’t even—” Grian dropped to the ground, muscles paralyzed. Or, he _almost_ dropped to the floor. Iskall quickly scooped him up.

“Thank you, so much.” Shaking his head, Iskall glared down at Grian who was trying to mumble something even as he was paralyzed.

“The next time you try and do that while hurt, I’m going to sit on you so you can’t move.” Scar threatened as the managed to disappear back into the barn. Sighing in relief, Xisuma looked to Keralis. Smiling, the druid shook his head and then looked away. The raven on his arm hopped to his shoulder, then onto his head, and gently started preening his hair like nothing was different. Chuckling, Keralis shared a look with Xisuma.

“Careful, raven. You don’t want Shadow getting jealous. Right, my dear?” The dire wolf glanced up once, then snorted and sat down to lick her paw. Meanwhile, the raven shifted over to Xisuma and pecked the outside of his helmet.

“Please don’t take a dump on my helmet.” Xisuma half-whispered, half-prayed. The raven squawked almost angrily and pecked his helmet harder, then flapped its wings and took off. Kyrie sighed in relief as the raven flew away, clearly glad it hadn’t landed on her.

They set off on finishing the roof rather quickly after that.

+++

“You don’t have to sit on me.” Grian pointed out, crossing his arms. As he had threatened earlier, Scar was, in fact, sitting on the young man’s legs. They were staying in the freshly-rebuilt inn (a lot of people had survived and Alvarin’s trade of golden apples with the mages meant they had _quite_ the resources and money to fix things; the way they treated everything made it seem like this hadn’t been the first time they’d dealt with this type of thing).

“I thought chimeras had goat, dragon, feline heads. And no wings? Or do they have wings?” False asked, glancing around at everyone. They were all sitting in the same room. Of course they were—they had the same sleeping quarters. After stabling the horses for half-price (because they were helping rebuild and Kyrie had spread the news that they were going to beat the chimera. She wasn’t wrong, honestly, but Xisuma mused that the pressure wouldn’t be that nice).

Ren was the one who replied, ripping a massive bite out of his chunk of meat in a single bite. Sometimes, Xisuma swore his canines were a little sharper than they should have been. “They do. I think this one is a bit more like a manticore.”

“It’s still a chimera. Glaedirian in origin.” Iskall replied, slicing a hunk out of his cheese with one of his daggers and then placing it on a slice of bread. Slapping a thin chunk of ham on, he added another slice of cheese and another slice of bread and then smacked the top of the sandwich before looking at Grian. Gesturing with his knife, the assassin added, “Don’t be an idiot and I will make you a sandwich. Do you have any allergies?”

“Scar sitting on my legs.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Anyways, _Iskall_ ,” He glanced over at Doc as the question was asked, apparently making Scar a sandwich as well as Grian. Tilting his head, he waited for a moment. Doc shoved a slice of apple in his mouth, then spoke around it (much to the clear disgust of Beef, who’d apparently been raised with manners and etiquette and other important things). “How do you know it’s a Glaedirian chimera?”

“I was a mercenary. Killed for sport and money, but not really an assassin because I didn’t have the stealth and it was hardly for political reasons most of the time. Anyways, the price was…five hundred gold per Cy’Ratha wing. The chimeras were another way for them to hunt down Cy’Ratha, and some of them must have gotten loose at some point.”

“Oh, like when they slaughtered the clerics in Mor Phós.” Cleo answered, and everyone blinked at her except for Ren. Reaching over, he touched her knee. Glancing over, she smiled in confusion, and he must have passed some quiet message to her because she turned back to the group and said nothing more.

“So…what changed? Why did you stop hunting the Cy’Ratha?” Scar handed a sandwich to Grian, and he stared at it almost like it was filled with arsenic and belladonna instead of ham and cheese. Like the bread was made of water hemlock flour and not wheat. _He had a similar reaction to the wall of wings in Thylama. Sure, he claimed it was because he was friends with Cy’Ratha, but I wonder if they were closer than that…_

Looking down, Iskall said, “I’d like to say it was a change of heart. It wasn’t. I was chasing one of the Cy’Ratha—I can’t remember much about it—and we were over the Golden Sea, west of Glaedir. Well, this giant fish leapt out of the water all of a sudden, opened its mouth, and then grabbed me out of the air.”

“How were you flying?”

Iskall rubbed the back of his neck, wincing and looking to the side. “I’d rather not explain. But this was a serious bounty—probably thirty-five, forty hundred _platinum_ pieces. I could have retired. But,” he took a breath and said, “I got eaten by a fish instead, and when I woke up in the thing’s mouth, there was someone yelling at me. I have no idea who, but since you said your patron, this…World Maker…talked to you after you got swallowed by a fish—”

“Among other things.” Bdubs chuckled weakly, and Iskall smiled. Looking down to the ground, the assassin touched his cybernetic eye and continued.

“There’s a lot I wish I hadn’t done, and a lot I wish I could change. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have done a lot if I could go back in time and…I don’t know, do something. So this is my new job.”

“What’s the pay?” False asked, leaning forwards on her knee. When Iskall and the others looked to her, she continued, “You were after this Cy’Ratha, whoever they were, for platinum. Then you got a new job that pays higher. What are you getting out of this job, and what might we have to expect people to offer you in order to get you to switch sides?”

“False!” Stress gasped, looking at her with wide eyes. Xisuma glanced at Keralis, noticing most of the others exchange looks as well. Grian glanced down at the sandwich in his hands, studying it almost like he was looking down at some sort of option. Something that could have been either a treasure or something worthless, mica or gold.

“No, she’s not wrong.” Iskall sighed again, then met the young paladin elf’s gaze. “Trust me—” Pausing, he tilted his head to the side and then cleared his throat. “I don’t have a reason to switch sides again. Trust me, if you remember what happened to Thylama—even if I hadn’t been so sure about my loyalties previously, seeing what that dragon did to Thylama…it changed things. I don’t think it’d be a smart idea to get on the bad side of a lightning spitter.” Grian glanced at him, then took a bite of the sandwich. “I don’t know why the Glaedirian King wanted to destroy the Cy’Ratha—”

“Because they’re different.” Joe began softly. Everyone looked to him, and he continued without looking over at them. “The king decided that he didn’t want to have the Cy’Ratha. He couldn’t trust them. There were two Cy’Ratha, maybe a couple more, in particular who he would have given a massive bounty to.”

“Like the one Iskall took?” Stress asked. Pausing for a moment to think, Joe shook his head. Looking over with a shadow to his face, the bard spoke quietly.

“For those two? Much, _much_ higher.” Shuddering once, he continued, “I visited the king’s court once, when I travelled in my younger days.” Grian paused as he took a bite, but he ducked his head to the side and spat something into his hand like he’d found something gross. Maybe it was just a bad bit of cheese, but Xisuma watched him curiously from the corner of his eye. Looking up, Grian stared into Xisuma’s helmet with a sharp, almost soul-piercing gaze.

Yawning loudly after finishing the sandwiches, Grian shoved at Scar and Iskall. “Get off my bed, I’m sleeping.”

“Uh, we’re sharing a bed, you noodle.” Scar scolded lightly, and Grian glanced at him. If he was joking, no one really knew, and he curled up and then decided not to protest. As Xisuma watched him lay down and the others spoke, False commenting that the Glaedirian king was a jerk and TFC telling her not to sink to his level, to respect those in power, he glanced down at his own hands and then looked at Keralis. _I wonder if he’s ever thought about bounties…about his life before us._

Taking a breath, he decided not to think about it any more and retired as well.

+++

Outside the door, Kyrie leaned against the oak wood and listened in.

Normally, she would never have eavesdropped. Especially when it came to hero-types. She preferred to avoid that kind of thing, at least after…everything that had happened. And yet…something about this group seemed different. This group of vastly different people, from vastly different backgrounds, had managed to find one another against all odds. Sure, they must have been one of the groups searching for the Cursed Crown—they wouldn’t have been the first, more and more adventurers went out every single year. She doubted that they’d be the last to search, either.

Taking a breath, she thought back to earlier. Heather would have been asleep by then, especially after their…debate over Kyrie’s helping the heroes. It was a stupid fight, really. Kyrie wanted to protect the town, wanted to protect _Heather_. Meanwhile, Heather didn’t want Kyrie dying on some stupid suicide mission. But there were twenty-five of these heroes. If anything, they were more likely to be killed than she or Mica were. But Heather would worry regardless, and Kyrie wouldn’t blame her.

Eyes narrowing, Kyrie looked up at the edge of the hallway, where the moon’s light streamed in through a delicately barred window onto the wood planks of the floor. The light inside the room dimmed and then blacked out as the heroes went to sleep. Of course, Kyrie wouldn’t disturb them tonight by asking to come along. No, she wouldn’t ask at all. She was going to help them destroy the chimera, confirm that the beast was dead, that Alvarin and Heather were safe.

Turning, Kyrie walked back down the hall with a short breath, her footsteps barely audible.

+++

It was early morning, probably earlier than it should have been for the tastes of most of the gang.

As they rode out into the Metal Woods and the mountains beyond, the whole party were busy eating breakfast in between steering the horses. Some—particularly the blonds and their brunet dragon child friend—were already cracking jokes. Maybe they weren’t ready for the morning, but they may not have slept in the first place. As the wolf trotted behind them all, keeping to the shadows and the hardy, bushy foliage that grew in the Woods, it glanced at them all every so often and then did its best to watch around them as well. A dove fluttered overhead, and the red-brown wolf glanced up at them a few times and then shook its head. For the time being, it would ignore it, but when it had the chance the bird was dead. The party stopped for a brief moment around noon, both to water their horses and give themselves a chance to rest and eat.

As if the bird knew this, it swooped down and decided to be annoying by landing on the wolf’s head. Growling, the wolf flicked its ears and snapped at the bird, grabbing its wing and throwing it to the ground. With a fluttering of wings, the dove flew off and landed on the branch of a nearby oak tree.

Shaking its head, the wolf turned and went to follow the group when they started moving a couple minutes later. They were rapidly approaching the massive maw of a cave that would lead deep into the mountain. Some of the party members glanced at one another, nervous energy painting the whole scene. The wolf paused at the edge of the woods, looking in at all of them but making no move to follow. Above its head, the dove had stayed in its place on a branch as well. Watching coldly, the wolf followed each member of the party as they followed a young elf-blood woman on a black horse with a panther beside her. Shadows swallowed each one of them in turn as they entered the caverns.

The wolf looked to the dove, growled and leapt up to snap its jaws closed around the branch and the bird. Teeth lodged in the bird’s chest, snapped the branch in half as they both dropped to the ground. With a quick shake of its head, the wolf threw both into a rock. The bird hit it, slid down to the dirt, and flapped its wings a few times before ultimately stilling. Growling triumphantly, the wolf turned to the cavern and waited for a few moments.

Leaving the body of the dove where it laid, bloody with feathers scattered around it, the wolf padded into the shadows and disappeared.

+++

The caves inside the Metal Woods were beautiful.

Staring up in wonder, Grian studied the natural architecture of the stone columns around them. Stalactites and stalagmites clawed at the air. Grey stone and andesite arced high above their heads, and he swore he could see little glowworms darting the ceiling like stars. Moss hung down in vast green curtains along the northern edges of the walls, hanging down to brush the ground. Kyrie and Mica padded on ahead, and she paused to tie her horse to one of the cavern’s many rock structures. “What are you doing? Aren’t we going to be riding in?” False asked, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. Turning to her, Kyrie smiled and shook her head.

“No. Sorry, but we need to walk in. The terrain is too rough for horses and they might slip on the rocks. Trust me, you don’t want to lose a horse—or your life—in these caves by falling down a cliff.” She turned and paused at the head of one of the other cave openings. Grian hopped off his horse, tied it to one of the nearby rock formations as well, and then waited for the rest of his group to do the same before following her. They’d fallen into groups of their own when they rode or walked, even when they didn’t have to. If he had to guess, it was probably because there were a lot of them and travelling as one massive group didn’t really make much sense.

Scar, Iskall, and Mumbo were his group. Up ahead, Jevin and Wels had hopped in with Keralis and Xisuma. While Keralis was perfectly fine with chattering away with the newcomers, Xisuma was pretty quiet. Whether he was shy, an introvert, or just not comfortable talking with anyone, Grian didn’t really care. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to (and Grian knew how that felt). Behind Grian and the others, Beef, Biffa, Cub, Ren, and Cleo were all together. Etho and Stress were behind them, TFC and False were with Kyrie up ahead. xB was striding along with Bdubs, Doc, and Joe like they weren’t going to go and fight a chimera or something that could very easily kill them.

Walking along with the others, Grian listened in on Scar chattering on about Jellie. Whatever she looked like, Grian had a feeling he was going to find out one day. (She did sound absolutely adorable, though. Grian loved cats, wanted some of his own. He was just…too mobile for pets, at least for the moment.) “You really like your cat, don’t you, Scar?” Iskall asked, glancing over with amusement literally shining in his tone.

Face flushing, Scar rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do. She’s my Jellie! She’s amazing!” He sighed and then admitted, “I just need to get a little better at wizarding, and then I can get her back.”

“Get her back?” Iskall echoed as they strode into another cavern. Grian looked around, frowned when he saw the state of the walls. The red stone was covered in soot and ash. _What the—_

“Yeah, she’s—”

“Guys—” Grian grabbed at Mumbo’s arm, missed the first time. The wood elf was absorbed in the Jellie conversation. Up ahead, the others had stopped, and Kyrie lifted her bow. A flaming arrow was nocked at the start, and she sent it flying into the dark maw of another chamber. “Guys.”

“—and she ended up in the _Aether_ somehow, so now I have to—”

“Guys.” Turning to look at them, he hissed the words. Mumbo glanced over, then did a double take at the concerned expression Grian doubtlessly had. “Iskall. Scar.”

Unfortunately, Scar and Iskall didn’t seem to hear them. The arrow disappeared into the cavern beyond the one they were in. Grian glanced in with a panic, heart threatening to force its way from his chest. Swallowing, he noticed a flash of something bright. “And anyways, I still need to learn a couple more spells before I can—"

There was a nasty hiss from deeper in the chamber, and Grian and the others turned to look into the massive maw of the cavern ahead.

Something emerged from the shadows, an odd growl-hiss emanating from his throat. Gunmetal grey goat horns sprouted from a deep, mahogany brown mane. A long, black-scaled tail flicked. The head on the end hissed, baring sharp and thin fangs. A shiver travelled up Grian’s spine. He’d seen chimeras, and he knew exactly which kind of chimera this one was. Massive, batlike wings made of a dark, ruddy brown membrane sprouted from the light, wheat golden-brown of the creature’s lionlike body. This was one of the chimeras that King Samuel I of Glaedirian had released to slaughter the Cy’Ratha in his hometown. They were built differently.

Pulling itself from the shadows, it tilted its head back and roared. A burst of flames, orange and red and yellow, spurted from its maw. The fire licked at the high rock spikes spiralling down from the ceiling. Drawing itself up to its full height, the chimera looked down at them all.

Then, it lunged.

+++

Xisuma jumped into action first.

Lunging to the side, he whipped out his daggers out of his pockets. The chimera reared back and slashed with a paw, claws unsheathed. Catching Xisuma in the chest, it threw him to the side and he went flying, rolling across the ground. “Xisuma!” Keralis yelled. Running over to him, the druid skidded on the rocks of the floor and then dropped down next to him, touching his side.

The chimera turned to snarl at them, tail hissing as lips peeled back from its fangs on its lion head. Cleo roared right back, then charged forwards. As she did, she shifted forms, transforming into a boar. _Oh, okay! Druids can do that!_ Scar realised, grabbing his staff and staring at her as she charged. Cleo drove her tusks into the chimera’s ribs, smashing into it hard enough they heard muscle thwack on muscle. It went stumbling back, thrown off-balance for a few moments before managing to slam a paw beneath it and shoulder her right back.

Iskall pulled out his bow, nocked an arrow, and shot it at the beast. The arrow slammed into its face, and the chimera’s head jerked to the side. Roaring, it flared its wings and beat them forwards twice, throwing dust into the air. Grian sort of just…appeared behind the chimera (he must have moved when Scar wasn’t looking), rapier in hand. Flipping over the beast’s tail when it snapped at him, he jabbed his blade deep into the chimera’s flank. Bellowing, it whipped around and tried biting him in the shoulder. While the beast was distracted, Tango darted in as well, Beef and Jevin on his heels. Kyrie darted to the side, shortswords in hand. Kyrie’s panther Mica lunged forward, but the chimera whipped around and snarled and the panther backed off with a yowl. Jevin was headed off by the tail as well, jolting back. The others, however, managed to get a hit. Kyrie managed two quick blows with her shortswords, then darted back to skid to a stop by her panther. Meanwhile, Beef smashed his warhammer into the chimera’s spine, and Tango’s rapier piercing its left wing. Shrieking, the chimera whipped around, and the others all quickly backed up.

The chimera made a charge for Ren, who grabbed his swords and slashed twice. The blades hit it across the face, and it stumbled back towards Mumbo with a shake of its head and several cries of pain. Mumbo clumsily pulled out his dagger and stabbed it twice without thinking, yelping and then stumbling back. The chimera whipped around, claws ready, and Cub bashed it in the face with his shield before stabbing it in the shoulder with his longsword. Putting himself between Mumbo and the monster, Cub backed himself and the wood elf up carefully. TFC lifted his hand, a waterskin and a small amount of dust from the floor in his hand. Dropping them on the ground, he said something and then looked to the chimera. A hail of ice formed and smashed down on the chimera one, two, four times. The chimera roared, shaking its head and blasting fire in the radius around it. Rather than react, TFC simply stared it down calmly, as if he had no worries at all.

Bellowing, the chimera lunged for Bdubs and Impulse, who were already beginning to step in. The tail snapped at Impulse, locking down on his arm. With a jerk, Impulse went down and clutched onto his upper arm. Meanwhile, the head and the claws went for Bdubs. Locking its jaws around his shoulder, it clawed for his stomach. Yelling, Bdubs stumbled away when it let him go and then shouted an incantation or evocation of some sort. A blast of crackling energy snapped for the chimera, striking it in the side. Impulse, bleeding and probably poisoned, jumped in and slammed his blade down at the chimera’s head.

Roaring, the chimera lashed out and Impulse just managed to duck away before scrambling back, pressing a hand to his arm again. Doc glanced between him, Bdubs, and then the chimera. “Go do your thing! We’ll be fine!” Impulse yelled, and Bdubs nodded when Doc looked to him.

Nodding solemnly, Doc glanced at Zedaph, who murmured something. The chimera already looked pretty down, and Scar fumbled in his pockets for the materials he might need. When he glanced back up, he saw that Doc had recklessly darted forwards and grabbed onto the chimera’s wing. Eyes narrowing, he focused, and bursts of green lightning crackled over the beast. Meanwhile, Zedaph pulled out what Scar thought was a chip of mica and slammed it into the chimera’s shoulder. He The bard whispered something, and the chimera roared. Both Doc and Zedaph grimaced as well, and the latter let out a short cry.

The chimera stumbled back.

Doc and Zedaph dropped bonelessly to the ground.

“Zedaph!” Tango and Impulse both shouted nervously. Stress bolted over to their fallen teammates while Wels jumped forwards with his sword and shield at the ready to fight, placing himself between the chimera and the others.

“Is this normal? You seem to die a lot!” Kyrie shouted, and Stress placed a hand on Zedaph’s forehead.

“He’s not dead! Yet.” Stress murmured, and Wels and the chimera faced off for a moment while snarling. Like, both of them were snarling. Faint pink magic glowed on Stress’ hands and she grimaced. “Come on, Zed. You need to hold on.” Frowning, she focused even more and the magic increased.

Wels, meanwhile, took a breath and then stepped forwards. He hissed a word, then snapped forwards and attacked with a slash of his blade. There was a thunderous crash, and the chimera went down hard. Etho ran forwards and stopped by Stress and Wels, checking on Doc and Zedaph. Meanwhile, Joe and xB darted towards the chimera. xB stabbed at it with a sword, whilst Joe jabbed it with a longsword. The chimera shuddered once, tail hissing, and then went still. 

Panting, Joe turned to look back at Scar, smiled, and nodded once. _We actually managed to do that?_ Shoulders shaking, Scar glanced down at the chimera as Kyrie walked over and kicked it in the head. A soft sigh left her, and she closed her eyes. Tango, meanwhile, went to Zedaph and gently picked him up. “Let’s get back.”

+++

Exhausted, battle-worn, and tired, the gang dragged themselves into Alvarin’s inn and promptly collapsed into their beds after a quick dinner where none of them really knew what they were doing.

Taking a breath, Impulse carefully unfolded his wings and stretched them out. Then, he tucked them around himself. Zedaph and Tango snuggled in beside him—something they’d done pretty much every night since they jokingly decided to try shoving themselves into the same tent. It was nice, anyways—Impulse had a feeling none of them had really had any form of good touch since long before the Cursed Crown mission began. False had scoffed at them, and Tango had replied with the phrase “boys will be boys” (her response was “idiots will be idiots”, and Tango had snarkily added, “You know you love us” and she rolled her eyes).

Yawning and pulling Zedaph closer, Impulse felt someone moving around their room. There were some soft murmurs from some of the others, the soft trickles of magic sparkling over wounds and healing them gently. He cracked an eye open as the person approached, expecting Keralis or TFC or maybe even Joe. Instead, he found some shapeless being standing over him, Zedaph, and Tango.

A slight smile crossed their face, and their head tilted to the side a little as they did with closed eyes. Returning it, even though he really wasn’t sure why, Impulse felt them touch his shoulder and slowly heal his injuries. He was so _tired_ , and since the thing didn’t seem like it was going to hurt them—oh, it was moving towards—nope, apparently it was just going to heal him and Tango and Zedaph and then tuck the blankets in around them.

Dropping into unconsciousness with a soft smile on his face, Impulse felt Zedaph and Tango tug themselves closer and settle into the bed.

+++

_Xisuma had no idea where he was, only that it was dark._

_Taking a shaky breath, he pressed himself to the ground, arms wrapped around his ribs as he settled on his knees._ You’re okay, you’re okay, this is fine. Keralis will find you, he did last time.

But this isn’t _like_ last time. _His mind fretted, and he closed his eyes. It didn’t make much difference, honestly. Everything was still dark. He wasn’t scared of the dark, not even close. He_ liked _the dark. Something was tugging at him, not physically but in another way._ No. I’m not letting you drag me around.

_The tugging got stronger, more insistent. He could hear a voice whispering in his ear. He didn’t know how to describe it as anything other than bone-chilling, with the same tone as an eel’s skin or a centipede scrabbling over his back. Ducking his head and running his hands over his helmet, Xisuma froze when he felt his hair instead of the smooth surface. Panting, he snapped his eyes open and looked around._

_**Oh, you really have no idea what you are, don’t you?** A mocking voice asked. Jolting, he turned and looked around, wishing he had some way to _see _. A burst of pale lilac light burst out from somewhere below him. When he looked down, he could see his hand was glowing. **I can help, darling. Just trust me.**_

_“N-no. No, I’m—I don’t need you. I’m fine.” Panting, he glanced around and then scrabbled back when something smashed through the air in front of him. Fingers landed on his chest and he felt an electric jolt through his entire chest. A gasp left him and he jumped back, slashing at them. The light formed a sword, and he stared down at it._ What? That’s not possible—

**_Oh, but it is. So much is possible._** _There was another jolt and Xisuma screamed, dropping the blade and falling to his knees. Pain lashed through his skull and spine, fireworking out behind his eyes and through his arms. It hurt, it_ hurt it hurt it hurt he was dying he was— ** _You’re not dying. Stop acting like a child, we both know you are nothing of the sort._**

_Looking up, he stared around himself at the chill in the air. The earth beneath him was an odd, pale sandy colour, mottled slightly and loose. Running a hand over it, he marvelled at the fact it was_ stone _. “What is this?”_

_Someone walked towards him, but he didn’t dare look at them. Their voice had shifted slightly, less in his head and almost more tangible. If voices could be tangible. **“Your kingdom. Come on, Xisuma. You can have all the power you want, you can protect Keralis. Don’t you**_ **want _that?”_** _He looked up at them and went stiff._

_It was him._

_The same purple-toned eyes, the same weird smile that he hated so much. Of course, this Xisuma didn’t have a helmet, so his hair—their hair?—hung down in front of his eyes at the bangs. The rest was tied back so it didn’t fall around his shoulders. Of course, this Xisuma had a different outfit, too. A white shirt with ties at the front and long sleeves, black trousers and matching boots. A cape hung around his shoulders, swung down to his knees. But the most significant part was the thin, rose gold circlet sitting in his hair, the amethyst-purple diamond sitting in it glittering with almost the same colour as his eyes. Immediately, Xisuma knew what it was—and a bit of what he was facing._

_“The Cursed Crown.”_

_Laughing, the Xisuma in front of him tilted his head to the side. **“Ooh, you’re smart. I like you.”** Smiling coldly, Crown-Xisuma held out a hand and said, **“I wonder if the other one is like you, too.”**_

_“The other one?” Xisuma echoed, and Crown-Xisuma smiled and shook his head. “What are you? What do you want?”_

_**“Isn’t it obvious?”** Crown-Xisuma asked. Pulling out a wicked-looking blade from thin-air, Crown-Xisuma darted forwards and drove the blade into Xisuma’s stomach. Gasping, he clawed at the hilt of the blade as pain—actual, physical pain, this couldn’t be a dream—smashed through him. Crown-Xisuma scoffed, shook his head, and grabbed the side of Xisuma’s head to yank him closer with his hair. A metallic, coppery taste filled Xisuma's mouth as he gasped and winced. Shaking him just a little bit, Crown-Xisuma’s eyes sparkled dangerously, and he whispered, **“I want you, Xisuma.”**_

_The blade pierced through Xisuma’s back, and everything went dark around him._

+++

A white dove sat on the windowsill of the inn room.

Peering inside, it blinked a few times and hopped closer, looking in on one of the young men lying in one of the beds. His chest fluttered with quick, uneven breaths and he whimpered once, softly. Turning his head from side to side, he murmured something and then cried out, one of his hands going to his chest. He jerked upright all of a sudden, gasping raggedly and then clapping a hand over his mouth with a panic. His other hand touched his chest a few times, and he glanced down at his fingers almost like he expected to see something. Blood or something else, the dove tilted its head to the side curiously.

Shuffling a few times, it continued to watch him as he glanced around the room, still panting. Well, panting was a bit of an understatement. His chest was heaving. There was no other way to describe it, he was panicking in some way. Shaking, he finally settled down and then curled up on his side under the blankets, looking out at the others and shaking slightly. No one else woke, however.

Turning, the dove spread its wings and fluttered off into the night.

Its tiny shadow flitted over vast plains, over sheer cliffs and mountain peaks, through deep canyons and flooded rapids. Elk raised their head to look at it as it flew over the flowery meadows they were grazing in. Deep, emerald green forests shimmered softly with swirls of frost as the dove finally arrived at none other than a massive castle. It rose from the top of the mountain like some kind of sentinel, with pure white marble that glittered ethereally in the moonlight streaming down on top of it. Spires rose from each of the eight corners, golden rods that seemed to glow with their own light rising from the tops of each scalloped, tawny-stone roof. Elegant gargoyles sat at the corners of the buildings, intricate details etched into the carvings and the friezes surrounding them. As the dove made its way to the tower in the middle of the fortress, it eyed the statues almost like it expected one to snap at it, to try and grab it from the sky.

In the main courtyard, the guards stood watch as fires flickered in pits around the area. A groom was attending to a horse with a pelt so white and shiny that a diamond would seem dull. An elegant, slightly curved horn rose from the horse’s forehead, and it snacked on the white bones and the furry haunch of what was once a deer. Its tail flicked, and it bared sharp teeth at the groom when he accidentally yanked too hard on the silvery strands of its mane. Stepping back, he held his hands up, and the beast went back to eating its dinner.

Shaking out its wings, the dove fluttered into the tallest tower, to what had to be the throne room. It fluttered down onto the exquisite carpet leading up to the throne room. The carpet itself was a rich, deep purple, made only with the finest materials and embroidered with elegant gold thread. The dove strode down the pathway, wings flicking as it did. The throne itself was a rather minimalist thing, especially compared to the sheer opulence of the room around it. The stained-glass windows were beautiful in their make, but the scenes they depicted were macabre to say the least. A man standing over the body of a beheaded dragon, holding the head in one hand. An archer, her panther at her feet, raining fire down on an oblivious village below. Golden scones sat between the windows, adding to the room’s obnoxiously golden imagery, and more gold was in the white marble walls and the polished quartz floor. If someone were to walk into the room on too sunny a day, they would probably be blinded for life.

Despite all of this, the throne room was, as said before, a simple thing. There was some purple accents to it, but it had been carved of simple blond wood with some small amounts of quartz framing it. A few diamonds sat in star patterns at the head and the arm rests, but other than that it was rather plain. The only occupant of the room was man who sat upon the throne. He seemed just as plain as the seat, looking down into a large quartz pedestal with a golden bowl set in it. Curved claws of quartz wrapped around the bowl, securing it in place. The bowl itself held a pool of water, which reflected gold and green light onto the lower half of the man’s face. Everything else was shielded by the white cloak that sat at his shoulders and hooked with a gold clasp in the front. He was wearing white robes beneath, and he turned to look at the dove as it approached.

Unfolding its wings, it flew over and landed on his shoulder, turning and quietly chirping to him. It was repeating everything it had learned, though to the average outsider it wouldn’t appear to be anything at all. As he listened, the man let out a few sounds of agreement and even amusement, as well as a few displeased ones. When the bird finished, he grinned, the light coming from the pool glinting off of his sharp smile.

Swirling a hand over the water, he dissolved the light, and the throne room was swallowed by shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be some small gaps in continuity with the story. I apologise in advance. Basically, I wrote this chapter in this order—the chimera fight (since it would have taken the longest), the conversation about Beef and Biffa, the scenes after that with repairing the building and then Kyrie, the ending with Impulse, Xisuma’s nightmare, the chapter’s ending, the scene where they ride into the mountains, and then the part where they’re walking through the caverns.  
> For anyone wondering why Zedaph and Doc nearly died, Zedaph rolled a nat 20 on the spell “Shatter” with 22 and 31 HP respectively, and Zedaph did 42 damage. Neither of them managed to save on Constitution. So…yeah, they nearly died, but they brought the chimera down by 58 damage together from like 77 to 19 HP of 178. Pretty powerful move (this does have some homebrew with it).  
> Figured out that when you say my name a particular way it sounds like “Timber” and also falls under the nonbinary name stereotype of being three letters mashed together. The more you learn everyday. Also, I did the equivalent of several weeks’ theatre assignments in about an hour, so I’m tired. Like to the point where tumblr trawling is exhausting. (Oh, more fun facts about my future chosen name that don’t matter because y’all can’t find me with it yet: my first name is also a kind of plant, both my dead and preferred name have nicknames that are three letters, if I went by dead name’s nickname but my chosen middle names my initials would be KRAB). Also, if anyone wants to complain about who I do and don’t kill in any of my stories, I’m just going to be honest—if I have a reason for killing the character, that is the only reason I’m killing them, but it has to be a good reason.  
> Might do a quick Among Us series of this when I get tired because the way I write these is I sit and watch either the Among Us streams or the Critical Role Mighty Nein playlist. So yeah. Hermits and Among Us sounds fun.  
> Thank you for reading. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope you have a lovely day! Hope to see you in the next one!


	9. VI: The Festival of Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After beating the chimera, the gang spends some time in Alvarin. While there, they experience they hang out in the inn room and are finally given a name (I wonder if you can guess what it is).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Update from 11/11/20: You’re probably wondering why you’re getting another chapter in the middle of the week. The short answer is that I am mad at my school for deciding to switch schedules on us *again* so that we have to go to school five days a week next week. And then we get a break for Thanksgiving. And then we have two more weeks until Christmas Break. And then we might be back at school. Basically, pardon my language—WhaT tHe FeCK?! Seriously? Anyways, I’m mad, so I’m giving y’all the fluff chapter so that at least someone might be able to have a good day!]  
> At the time of writing this note, I still haven’t even begun to write the previous chapter. Anyways, I failed my last couple of history quizzes so I’m going to get off my ass and stop failing them and start working ahead on my work because damnit I’ve written and published three books (the plot on them is good according to readers but the editing is awful and I need to do an overhaul) over the course of one year, I can get better at high school and college!  
> I also managed to draw a tiefling with wavy hair and it was a lot of firsts (outfit, tiefling, and the hairstyle because I have never drawn a wavy bob due to sheer fear). It also actually looked kind of good, so I might show it to you guys at some point!  
> If you think I can’t write a couple thousand words of fluff and make it relevant to the plot, you better fricking watch me because I BS’d a 6-7 page research essay in 45 minutes 2 class periods before it was due. I know how to write. (Not that I don’t think you guys won’t enjoy it, that anecdote is just one of my favourites because it’s college-level procrastination from when I was a sophomore at the private school where my Bible teacher looked a lot like Chris Evans). Now before I regret sharing that, let’s jump into this!  
> (Ah, who am I kidding, publishing anything is like being caught with your pants down in public)

When Alvarin celebrated something, they _celebrated._

As Xisuma strode through the walkways, he found himself looking around at everyone and smiling the whole time. Joe and Zedaph were playing the accordion and ocarina in the square with everyone, and Tango had pulled one of the tieflings from the city in to dance with him. Sitting on the ground by the fountain beside Stress and Etho, Impulse was letting some of the village kids put flower crowns on his hair. His wings were still hidden. Whether that was just normal for him, or a result of what had happened to him in Thylama, Xisuma wasn’t sure.

Meanwhile, Stress was braiding the front, longer bits of Etho’s hair together, laughing the whole time. A whole train of pink and orange flowers was laid around her shoulders, and she looked at the kids with bright eyes as she explained what she was doing. They were rapt with attention, eyes practically glowing with interest.

Jevin was helping some of the villagers cook and pass food out to everyone. Smiling, he added some spice, said something to the dark-skinned tiefling beside him, then turned back and added more. The tiefling’s boyfriend, a human who probably was one of the village bakers, was showing Hypno how to make a particular kind of bread. The monk was watching carefully, a soft smile on his face as his hands moved. Scar was messing around with magic, letting the magic crystals he carried with him glow brightly and hover above his hands. As he did, the kids surrounding him tried jumping up, laughing, to catch the crystals and swiped at them with the tips of their fingers. Every time, Scar made them fly a little higher, a broad grin painting his face.

Mumbo was working on the little pseudodragon Xisuma had seen him with on the first day they all met. The ruby red eyes were powered off, and Mumbo was working with what looked to be a tiny little screwdriver or something, thin fingers fixing little wires with the ease of a gnome. Sitting beside him on the stone bricks of the fountain was a little, blue-skinned tiefling in a white dress. A soft smile lit Mumbo’s face and he began explaining things to the kid, who tucked some strands of white hair behind her horns and ears with wide eyes as she watched him talk. Every so often, her tail would flick excitedly. One of her friends wandered over and leaned on her knees to look into the android psuedodragon’s tiny mechanical body, eyes bright.

Ren and Cleo strode up to him, Keralis beside them. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” Xisuma asked, looking to them. There was an odd look on the three’s faces, and he tilted his head to the side. “Everything alright?”

Cleo and Ren exchanged a glance, and he cleared his throat. _Are they…a thing or something?_ Xisuma wondered, then immediately dismissed it. As far as he knew, they had a similar relationship to TFC and False, whether or not they realised it. Close friends, possibly more like siblings or father-daughter (though he wasn’t sure why, he didn’t think that Ren was Cleo’s father). Ren started speaking, voice slightly rough, “Cleo and I have some business to attend to near Pike Point—”

Xisuma glanced at Keralis, who explained, “Pike Point is the next rendezvous. It’s too close to winter for us to risk travelling, so the message was sent out to everyone that we’re meant to rendezvous somewhere. In the meantime, we can travel, see family, the like.”

“Who else needs to travel?”

“Well, we do.” Keralis pointed out. “I checked in with everyone else. Zedaph, Impulse, Tango, and Bdubs are going to be travelling to Pike Point eventually as well, but they want to check out this treasure map that Zedaph managed to find in his bag—I think he might have gotten it from David and Shanna’s kid but it turned out that the thing’s legit. Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, Stress, Wels, Etho, and Joe are all heading there tomorrow. Jevin has some business in the south, False and TFC have to fetch a package from another city in Dallara. Scar has some business to attend to as well so he’s heading somewhere else. Doc and Hypno are travelling on a bit of…something, they wouldn’t elaborate, and I don’t know what Cub’s doing but he swore he’d be there in the springtime. xB, Biffa, and Beef are doing their own thing as well.” Keralis paused and counted on his fingers really quickly, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s everyone.”

“So we’re all heading to Pike Point in the springtime?” Xisuma asked, and Keralis nodded again. Before he could continue, little hands wrapped around his leg. Glancing down and jumping, he met the gaze of a little dragonborn with a chunky build and glittering red scales. Snout upturned in a smile, the kid hugged Xisuma’s leg a little tighter and he smiled. “Hi.”

The dragonborn squeezed his leg again until he could feel pins and needles making their way up his legs. Another dragonborn, probably the kid’s mother, darted over. “I am _so_ sorry, he’s normally so much more gentle. Mehen!” The dragonborn pouted and let go, and his mother scooped him up into her arms. They had the same vibrant, chromatically red scales. “I am so sorry.”

Chuckling lightly, Xisuma replied, “It’s alright. He was just excited.” Mehen grabbed at his hand again and Xisuma gave the little boy a high five. Giggling, Mehen ducked his head into his mother’s neck and she smiled gently.

“Xisuma!” Zedaph shouted taking a break from the ocarina to run over and try dragging him into a dance.

“Whoa—Zed!” Glancing back as he was dragged towards where people were dancing. X noticed that Keralis was still talking with the dragonborn mother.

“Come on, have some _fun_ , X! It’ll be great!”

“I don’t really know how to dance!”

“I can show you!” Zedaph replied, and X laughed a few times as he was pulled closer. Sure, maybe he stepped on Zedaph’s toes a few times, and maybe Tango decided to spare him embarrassment by none-too-subtly “tripping” and falling on his face to make the kids laugh. But it was fun regardless.

+++

Later that night, the celebrations were still in full swing in the town square, but the group was winding down with Kyrie, Heather, and Mica in their inn room.

Of course, it was a bit bittersweet. They’d just fought a chimera, and some of them had nearly died multiple times since they’d met. All of them had nearly been murdered in Thylama. Sure, they’d meet up after winter in the springtime, in Pike’s Point, but that was still a couple months. Stuff could happen.

A few paper lanterns that some of the little kids had dropped off earlier hung from some of the bunk beds, painted in bright colours of green and red and blue. A bunch of snacks were set on the wooden floor in front of them, and there were mugs scattered around them all. Kyrie stroked a hand through Mica’s black, spotted fur, a soft smile on her face as she and Heather looked at one another. The elf leaned in and whispered something, and Heather laughed softly and blushed just a little bit.

“Impulse, mind passing me one of those almond cookies?” Tango asked where he was lying on one of the beds, tail flicking as he kicked his legs like some teenager journaling about how awful their parents were in a movie Xisuma had once seen while travelling with Keralis through the elven province of Millav. (It had been a rather dull movie, admittedly. The main plot’s storyline was basically just the teenager fell in love with a bad boy, thought she could “change him”, and ended up being the one who changed in the end. No happy ending, no real satisfaction, and it was two hours of his life Xisuma could not get back.)

Impulse passed over one of said cookies, and Tango promptly shoved the entire thing in his mouth and then took a swig of his hot chocolate. “Oh my gosh, don’t choke.” Zedaph said, and Hypno chuckled as he picked up one of the loaves of bread he had made earlier. There were quite a few, actually. If he didn’t know better, X would guess that Hypno had some kind of magic. But no, the monk just used to be a baker. A really good baker, too, but something had happened (no, Xisuma didn’t know what) and now he was a monk.

“Oh my gosh, Hypno—” Scar pulled off another chunk of his loaf of bread, then added, “These are _amazing.”_ Hypno signed something at him and Scar smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Pausing, Hypno started signing much faster, and Scar watched for a few moments. Xisuma didn’t recognise any of the signs. Beside him, Keralis moved and straightened up a little bit.

Smiling, Scar replied, “No, I can understand sign. I learned it while I was an alchemist. I was…” Tilting his head to the side and frowning, he took another bite and mumbled around it, “Fifteen? Maybe younger.” Hypno nodded and signed something, tapping his thumb against his chest with his fingers spread. Grinning, Scar signed right back at him and then added something.

The pair started quickly signing to one another, Scar laughing every so often and Hypno moving like he would if he weren’t mute. “Okay, that’s cool.” Mumbo announced from where he was sitting on his own bed, legs dangling through the rails on the side of the bunk and kicking them a few times. Hypno and Scar both looked at him, looked at each other. Signing something quickly, Hypno grinned slyly and Scar startled cackling. A mix of confusion and distress crossed Mumbo’s face and he asked, “Do I want to know?’

“You wouldn’t get it.” Scar replied through laughs, and Grian laughed, too.

The conversation shifted, and Wels leaned over onto Jevin with a wicked smile on his face. “So, Jevin…what’s with your business in the south? You have someone there who you like?”

Jevin glanced over and flatly replied, “Yes, I—a human-turned-Visho from Glaedir—has someone in the _south_ that I’m planning on visiting.” Wels raised his eyebrows a few times. Shoving at him with a scoff, Jevin added, “No. I do _not_ have a romantic tryst in the south. Get your mind out of the swamps.”

“So you’re going to the swamps, then?” Wels asked. When Jevin shrugged and nodded, Wels sat back with shock splashing his features. “Really?”

Glancing down at the arm where most of the Visho slime had taken over his skin, Jevin mused softly, “There’s someone I need to check in with. Make sure that she’s alright.”

Everyone went quiet for a long while, and Stress stretched her legs out in front of her before picking up some more of the cookies and snacking on them. “Whoever made these cookies, you have to have sold your soul to a demon because these are _amazing._ ” Hypno’s shoulders jerked up and he ducked his head with a certain amount of pink dusting his nose and cheeks. “You should be proud!”

Hypno signed at her and then leaned back on his hands, staring at his feet. xB, Beef, and Biffa started batting at one of the paper lanterns, although TFC did warn them not to set the beds or something else on fire. Iskall hopped up on the bed beside Mumbo, watching him build some other little android thing. Occasionally, the assassin would ask a question or point. False was busy braiding her hair, and Cleo settled down by Ren to start playing with his hair. Rather than react, he simply sat there and let her (which made X think that they really were like TFC and False). Joe polished some of the keys on his accordion and tested it out a few times, and X looked around at everyone again. Etho was sitting by Stress, his head in her lap as she removed some of the flowers. Cub, Doc, and Bdubs were sitting on the edges of the group, playing a card game.

Settling back on his hands, Xisuma took a breath and mused that he couldn’t wait until winter ended.

Clearing her throat, Kyrie glanced over them all. “So…what are we supposed to call you? There’s going to be another White Lion tavern group at some point, so it can’t be that, but surely you want a name.” Humour lit her eyes and she added, “I mean, unless you want to be called ‘The Group’.”

Xisuma glanced at the others. Joe seemed to turn an idea over in his head. “I have a bit of an idea.” He confessed, and everyone turned to look at him. “There was a young girl who talked to me while I was playing earlier, asked about our backgrounds. So I told her we came from a lot of different backgrounds, and she said something else. _Hermitha._ ”

Frowning, Xisuma echoed, “’Hermitha?” The word sounded familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d never heard it before…hadn’t he?

“It’s Athavan for ‘wanderers’.” Tilting his head to the side, Joe added, “I think it sounds pretty descriptive for us.”

“Hmm…it’s a little odd.” Tipping her head back to look at the ceiling, Cleo paused. “What about…the hermits?”

“The Hermits?” She nodded, and Kyrie seemed to turn the idea over in her head. “I like that. The Hermits.”

**_The Hermits._** A voice mused in the back of Xisuma’s mind. Unlike the one from his nightmare the night before, this one was soft and warm, made a soft feeling flood through his chest. **_A good name, little hero._**

Exhaling, Xisuma looked around at the Hermits, smiled, and took another breath. They’d be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, they don’t get to protest against the name “The Hermits”. Had to bring it up at some point. Also, I can sign some ASL (I took one class and the only person in my immediate family who hasn’t taken said class is my dad; when I go to the community college next year for my film associate’s I’m probably going to take that class and the next couple levels up as well), but not a ton. Also, I do not claim to be an expert—I am hearing—so don’t act like I am one. Uh…anyways—  
> My diet for the past three days has been mostly sugar and Poptarts. I mean I had tuna the first day for lunch so I was kind of healthy. Also this chapter is [2307] words long. Fluff and relevant to the plot, whoop whoop. (Also, as I have noted under the relationships, it is all platonic. There are some forms of exceptions, seeing as Bdubs is married and then you have the whole Heldain thing. There’s also some…other hints at relationships that I’ve seen between the hermits and decided to drag in, but the main focus of the story isn’t romance so it’s not going to come in much more than the occasional statement).  
> Anyways, I hope you have a lovely day. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, thank you for reading, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	10. Interlude I-Seven Crows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interlude between Acts I and II. If you so wish, I would highly suggest that you take notes. Trust me, I had to do that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should be named “Seven Doves”, technically, but that doesn’t sound as cool as “Seven Crows” does and I’m lazy so whatever.  
> It is November 4th, and I am writing this at the same time as the last chapter. Why? Because I want to, I work this way. Anyways, we had Dia de los Muertos celebrations in my city yesterday and when we drove by the cemeteries by my house on the way home it was actually kind of cool to see all the candles and marigolds and the difference between pre-dusk and after sunset. And it sort of inspired something for this chapter, based from the “respecting those who have passed” part of everything.  
> Also, this is where the characters levelled up. All characters that were level 2 will now be level 3, the level 3, 4, 5, 7, and 8 will be levelling up as well. (Yeah, I bet you didn’t know some of the hermits weren’t actually level 2. There’s more reasons behind it). Fun fact that I found when looking at X’s background—apparently X was meant to be nonbinary for this story, so…whoops. I’ll probably work it in during this chapter somehow, or let’s just assume that they realised “oh, hey, I’m nonbinary” sometime over the winter. That’s not me trying to shoehorn rep in or anything (JKR I’m looking at you), that’s a mistake on my part and I’m kind of tired so please forgive me, more likely than not it’ll just be that X is genderfluid now?  
> I have to work on school at some point today so I think later I’m going to jump on and take my math notes a day earlier than I usually do to count for it, so wish me luck because this is the third chapter for this that I’ve written in two days. Also, I’m aware it says “Dallara” and “Dallora” at different times but I’m super lazy so let’s just say it’s spelled both ways and I’m too lazy to fix it right now don’t @ me y’all.  
> My chest feels like it’s got air in it (like in a coughing way but that’s not clearing it for some reason) so if this one seems odd in any way that’s why (Later Note from 11/12--It turned out to be nothing I think it may have had to do with binding and a bad night's of sleep honestly).

They didn’t have much time.

As the moon sat in the sky, hidden behind the clouds, Cleo glanced between Ren, the chains she was securing to the tree, and then at the moon. “We’re going to be just fine, Cleo. We’ve always been fine before.” Ren reassured, and she glanced at him.

“I don’t like this.” She mused, and he shrugged. The chains already wrapped around him, locking him against the trunk, clanked together as he did. Frowning in concern, she tugged at the chains. “Those tight enough.”

“Yeah. Not like I’d hurt you anyways.”

“It’s half-moon, I’m not watching you tear apart some poor farmer’s sheep while they watch.” Growling in frustration, she glanced at him when he leaned away. “Do I still smell ‘undead’?”

“For a nymph, yes.” Wrinkling his nose, he winced when some of the moonlight started falling on the emerald green grass of the field in front of them. “Is it wrong to wish it was two hours from now already?”

“I don’t envy you.” She murmured, locking the chains behind him and then stepping back to lean against another tree. Pulling an apple from one of the low-hanging branches, she took a bite of it and studied the rotting inside before taking another bite. “Although I guess I wouldn’t envy you anyways. Less colours, less taste.”

Ren laughed softly and then sucked in a breath. She glanced at him. Shaking his head, he took a few breaths. “You know…this is going to be a lot more difficult if the others happen to be around…during a full moon…” His stomach sort of heaved and he grimaced, shuddering once and squeezing his eyes shut. “Ugh, I hate this part.”

“Considering the amount of time you spend screaming your head off, I can guess why.” She mused, glancing him up and down. Ren smiled weakly and then groaned again. Slumping down to the ground, Cleo looked out at the moon as it emerged from behind the clouds. In the distance, the mountain peaks glimmered almost ultramarine capped with silvery snow under the moonlight.

Closing her eyes, she decided to let herself sink back into her memories, running her hands through her hair. She could hear Ren jerking against the chains and roaring at first. Then, everything faded out, and her feet were sinking into soft grass. Blinking, she looked around her and swallowed in confusion. She didn’t— _want is this? What…_ Ren screamed, nearly shattering the vision, and Cleo glanced around her. “Hello?” She called softly, looking around.

Standing in front of a mountain she knew was familiar was a young woman she knew but didn’t recognise. Long, dark brown hair hung down to her waist in loose curls, and dark green eyes shimmered almost sadly with tears. She smiled softly, then turned to the mountain and started walking towards the wall.

“W-wait!” Running forwards, Cleo reached for the young woman. A white dress hung around the strange girl’s figure, loose white skirt billowing out in the wind. She had no shoes. “Wait! Who are you?”

The girl disappeared into the mountain, and a scream shattered her thoughts.

Jerking upright against the tree, she looked over at Ren. He was writhing around, sucking in a few powerful breaths and shaking his head. Blood dripped from a shallow scrape on his cheek and above his eyebrows, matting the brown fur there. The metal muzzle they’d set up, made of twisted wire and something he swore grounded him, was now locked around the snout his nose and mouth had become. The spots where it had peeled his lips back were bleeding, blood staining the yellowed fangs there, and his eyes focused on her. Growling, he tugged at the chains, massive claws flexing where they were, but the moon was on its way down and soon he’d be sensible enough to act like an idiot rather than a monster.

Pulling her legs up to her knees, the face of the young woman she’d seen haunting the back of her mind, Cleo took a breath and waited for when Ren would give her the signal for safety.

+++

As they strode through the dwarven settlement, away from the post office, False glanced around and then frowned.

Two posters caught her eye from where they hung off of one of the bulletin boards, and she walked over and paused. One of them had a quick painting of a high elf with grey-brown hair and a beard. Brown eyes stared at her, and she sucked in a breath as she read over the poster.

_REWARD REWARD REWARD_

_For the LIVE capture of one (1) Tharivol Faust Calish, Duke of Calish, Sorcerer_

_High elf, grey-brown hair, beard, brown eyes, scarred skin, prosthetic leg made of magic_

_Beware; he is incredibly powerful and elusive. If you think he does not see you, he does._

_10,000,000 platinum for his LIVE capture and return to the Royal Family of Tiaa’ma_

_REWARD REWARD REWARD_

Pulling it down in a panic, she turned and grabbed the other one, sucking in a quick breath. Her eyes darted over the other poster. A younger high elf with long, golden-blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes, and a determined expression gazed back at her. The sketch was much kinder for her than it was for the other elf. Swallowing nervously, she recognised the flourish of someone…someone she knew. _No. No, no, no, this can’t be happening._

_REWARD REWARD REWARD_

_For the safe return of Falsymmetra Amakiir, Princess of Tiaa’ma._

_Golden-blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin; travelling with Tharival Faust Calish._

_50,000,000 platinum for her safe return to the Royal Family of Tiaa’ma, where her beloved parents and fiancé await her_

_REWARD REWARD REWARD_

_Where is this?_ Quickly, she glanced around and then pulled her hood up to hide her hair. Sucking in another breath, she quickly crumpled the posters up and shoved them in her pocket. TFC was waiting for her near the fountain, concern written on his face as she hurried over. “We need to go. Now. They know.” Understanding crossed his face, and he held out his arm as he pulled his hood up. Taking it, she watched their backs as they walked to their horses.

This was bad.

This was very, very bad.

+++

The Red Rock Tavern was one of a myriad of connected taverns that had sent out group after group to search for the Cursed Crown.

Of course, Red Rock was one of the more unique ones. Based on the terracotta flats deeper in the dwarven kingdom, Biffa and Beef sat on the stools at the bar to share a drink and shoot the breeze. Slamming back another shot, Biffa belted out a laugh, ordered another drink, and then belched. With a shake of their head, the blond dwarf tending the bar turned and passed him another mug and then went back to scrubbing at a stain.

“So, you’re all planning on meeting up in Pike’s Point.” Biffa mused, chugging some more of his ale. Rolling his eyes and passing some gold over to the poor barkeep as a tip. Smiling, they ducked back and then went to serve some other dwarves who had settled down.

“You’re coming too, Biffa. I know you won’t pass up being in Dallora.”

“It’s Dallara, Beef.”

“Pretty sure it’s not.”

Both of them glared at each other, then burst out laughing after a moment. Clapping Biffa on the shoulder hard enough he nearly choked, Beef mused, “I’ve heard it both ways, it doesn’t particularly matter. Regardless, we need to—”

All of a sudden, there was a burst of scarlet light. Whipping around and jumping to their feet, both dwarves drew their weapons and hefted them. Sitting on the bar counter were twenty-nine, perfectly whole insignias with the symbol of the Red Rock Tavern carved into them. Then, another popped into view as well, the insignia crushed and destroyed like a blade had been driven into it. The barkeep walked over, mournfully picked them up, and then sighed and shook their head. Staring at the insignias in horror, Biffa and Beef exchanged a glance.

Something had killed the Red Rock Tavern group, and there was no telling what it was.

+++

He didn’t realise that he had nearly been crushed by a rockslide until after the fact.

He, Impulse, Tango, and Bdubs were walking along tone of the mountain paths above Pike’s Point, trying to find their way down to it. The path they’d taken wasn’t working, or at least hadn’t been when they’d looked at it. As they walked, he kept glancing down over the side. The cliffs dropped away, but he could see Pike’s Point where it sat in the middle of the valley. The massive crag of rock that had earned the town its name (which didn’t really look like a pike. Zedaph thought it looked more like the snout of one if anything. Or, maybe, maybe just really a spire of rock sticking out of the ground. He was no architect or artist, and maybe he wasn’t an artificer either, but at least wires and redstone made _some_ semblance of sense to him).

Looking up at the rocks ahead, where the others were scaling them, Zedaph sighed and dragged himself up over another one. The rocks slipped just a bit under his grip, but he didn’t think anything about it. _Alright, Zedaph, stop complaining. Impulse could fly instead of walking and climbing, and he’s doing that._

Yawning softly, he stretched his arms above his head and then paused, frowning. He could have sworn the ground was…rumbling under his feet? _What?_ “Guys, is it just me, or is the mountain shaking?” He called up ahead, and the others turned to look at him. In that next second, Tango froze and looked up at above them.

His eyes widened and he looked back down, screaming, “Zedaph, _run!”_ Glancing up, Zedaph froze when he saw the rocks barrelling down on him. His breath froze in his throat, and he tried to move. He really did. But his heart was roaring in his ears and moving was suddenly impossible and there was no way that he could— _“ZEDAPH!”_

Jolting, Zedaph turned and tried to run, the earth shaking beneath him. _No, no, please I can’t I don’t want to die like this—_ more as a last-ditch effort, he threw his hand forwards like any of them could reach him. There was a _whoosh_ all around him, like rushing air, and he could suddenly smell something like ponderosa bark all around them. Collapsing to his knees and sucking in breaths, he felt hands on his back and someone dropped to their knees beside him and pulled him close, his head resting on their shoulder.

“Okay, okay, ssh, you’re alright.” Sucking in a few gasps and shaking, Zedaph grabbed the person’s arms and held them close. Bdubs’ voice met his ears, “I know, I know, that was terrifying, you’re alright.”

“I’ve never seen anyone run that fast.” Tango murmured, bending down and gently touching Zedaph’s knee as he crouched. “Hey, hey, look at me.” Still freaking out internally— _how did I survive that?_ —Zedaph looked up and Tango cupped his face. Red eyes held his own purple. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

Shakily, Zedaph nodded and then followed Tango’s breathing. When he glanced back at the rockslide that now took up where he had been standing earlier, he couldn’t figure out how he could have possibly run that fast. _Unless…_ glancing down at his hands, he thought about the rush of air around him. _Unless I teleported? But that’s…that’s not possible, I can’t—I couldn’t have—_

“Hey, dude, let’s get to Pike’s Point. We found a safe path down.” Impulse said, and Zedaph looked up and nodded, frowning and shaking a bit.

As they walked away, he glanced back a few times and then dismissed the thought. There was no possible, feasible way that he could have _teleported_. That was magic, and he knew he didn’t have _that_ kind of magic.

Right?

+++

The king of Glaedir sat on the throne, staring down at some of his advisors where they were in front of him.

“You know, my darling wife always told me I shouldn’t have trusted you.” He ran a finger along the underside of the chain necklace dangling around his neck. As his fingers ran beneath the pendant in the middle, he looked down and let the sunlight streaming into the throne room glitter off of it. The pale, milky silver-blue of the orb set in the pendant gleamed in his eyes, and he smiled up at the advisors in front of him. Shaking his head, he mused, “I guess she was right.”

“Sire, we didn’t do anything. Please, you need to trust us.” One of the advisors frantically said. “We supported you when you destroyed the Cy’ratha—we _helped you plan it—”_

“And yet, there are reports of Cy’Ratha in my mountains? What happened to ‘no survivors’? We hired the best assassins in the land for the heads of two of the _most powerful Cy’Ratha in the land_ , and you’re telling me you’re just getting news that one of them escaped because _the best assassin you could find got eaten by a fish.”_

The advisors grimaced. However, the bird sitting on the windowsill, a slim black raven with a white chest, tilted its head to the side and studied the pendant. Then, it turned and flew away, arcing towards the deep ponderosa trees around them. Ducking down to the forest floor, it kicked its legs forward. Had anyone been walking by, they would have seen the raven shift from a bird into a brown-furred wolf with similar markings before it landed on the floor and started galloping at full speed. Sunlight darted through the gaps in the trees, bouncing off floating dust particles in the air, and the wolf took a few soft breaths as it leapt over a small creek. Deer raised their heads and watched the wolf pass, but it ignored them.

Galloping faster, it darted into the gap between two trees, where the branches arced over to form a circle, eyes glittering a deep purple. A vortex began to swirl in the gap, swirling the same tone as its eyes. It turned and loped around. Wind swirled around it as it disappeared from the woods.

On the other side of the portal, the wolf appeared into the mountains. Slowing to a trot, it looked around. Its breath fogged out from its muzzle, and a pink tone lolled out of its mouth as it moved. The white fur on its chest and hind leg flashed in the midnight.

Hoofbeats echoed on the path, and the wolf stopped. Turning, it met the gaze of a black draft horse with brown at its muzzle and a white blaze down its face. Sitting atop its back was a dragonborn in the traditional white and gold robes of a Dallaran cleric. Sniffing a few times, the wolf dipped its head. The dragonborn responded in kind. Around his neck dangled two pendants on gold and silver chains. The one on the gold chain held the cleric’s holy symbol, a black pendant with a wolf’s head made of carved opal set into it. It sat against the scale mail sitting behind his robes, and sharp, almost glowing yellow eyes watched the wolf. Meanwhile, the horse snorted and tossed its head.

“Hello, Voidwalker.” He mused, and the wolf dipped its head. “I suppose you’re checking on this?” He raised the other pendant into view. It was rather similar to the Glaedirian king’s pendant, but instead of a milky silver-blue, it was the deep purple-black of the void and the earth’s deepest shadows. Snorting once, the wolf turned and darted into the woods once more, leaving the dragonborn to ride to the city of Hullenbróck, leaving with a flick of the tail.

Heat washed over the wolf as it shifted dimensions once more. The dark red walls of Na’atharin’s massive hell fortresses loomed around it. Padding along the bricks, it snorted and took a few breaths as the smoke filled its lungs. Outside, hot lava popped and it strode into one of the red-brick rooms. Dark steel bars sat over each one of the windows, giving a view to the massive orange lava lakes outside. This wasn’t where the Key would be for much longer, but it had done its job for the time being.

Rising onto its back legs, the wolf shifted to a humanoid form made of shadow. Their hand grazed over a locked symbol on the wall, destroying it immediately. The world rattled just a little bit and the shadow looked down to its wrist as the symbol flashed blue. Below it, several numbers appeared in an ancient language only it knew. Taking a breath, the shadow strode over to a golden podium in the middle of the room. Sitting atop a wine-red velvet pillow on the podium was an orb, the same shade as dark wine around the edges and golden in the middle. Wrapping it in a jet-black cloth, the shadow tucked the orb into a pocket and then braced their hands against the golden podium. Slowly, it began to melt away, dribbling into swirls of shifting golden sand that swirled up their arms and glowed as it settled into grooves in their armour beneath. A sound of satisfaction left them and they stepped back and took in the blank state of the room.

Setting a hand against the wall, they said, “Thank you, m’dear. See you soon.” Then, they disappeared in a swirl of shadows.

After all, they had a new hiding place to find.

+++

It had been a nice walk to the monastery…or it would have been, if Doc weren’t one to hate walking.

Bracing his arms around himself, he followed Hypno through the marble halls around them. Elegant carvings were etched into the stone pillars, and he glanced out at the impressive view through the elegant stained-glass windows. These ones weren’t actually depicting anything, they were just painted pale blue and yellow. The mountains stretched out into the distance, circling the plains of the valley below. Taking a breath, he imagined being somewhere else—at the library. It was also late winter, so there was snow everywhere and he didn’t know much about Cryor, but he knew they _didn’t_ like the cold.

Shivering, he watched Hypno’s back and wondered how in the world the young man could possibly withstand the chill in no shoes and light robes. _What the heck. Are you superhuman? I know you’re not that kind of monk, I asked and they told me you were the hand dude or…something. Whatever that means._ Rolling his shoulders, he traced the lines of the hall.

They arrived into the main hall only to find a familiar voice echoing to them. It wasn’t angry, not even close. It was oddly…resigned, though. “What do you mean you can’t send letters to Amaranth?” Cub asked, standing by one of the messengers that could be hired out by anyone there. Meanwhile, the messenger signed something and shook their head, clearly just as disappointed. Sighing, Cub ran a hand through his hair. It’d grown out some since they last saw each other, even though it was still short. The dark circles under his eyes were new, though. _What happened? Is everything alright?_ As they walked up, Cub glanced over and smiled tiredly, then turned to the messenger as they signed an apology to him. “No, it’s alright. Thank you, though.” The messenger nodded, a sympathetic look on their face, and then walked off. Cub, meanwhile, turned to face Doc and Hypno.

“What was that about?” Doc asked, and Cub glanced after the messenger with a sad smile, then sighed.

“Trying to check in on my hometown Y’mard in Amaranth. Family matters.” He held up a small letter in a white envelope. It was closed with a seal, one Doc realised was from the golden ring on Cub’s left ring finger. _A wedding ring? Did he have that earlier?_ Noticing Doc’s look, Cub followed his gaze and laughed tiredly. “I’ve been married for a while, have a couple kids. They’re sort of older now, probably about Impulse, Zedaph, or Tango’s age.” The light in his eyes darkened a little. “I haven’t seen them in a long while.”

“What happened?” Cub shrugged, and Doc tilted his head to the side. “You don’t want to talk about it? I mean, that’s fine, I just—”

“No, I—I don’t know what happened.” Leaning against one of the pillars, Cub crossed his arms and looked out through the temple gates. The midafternoon sunlight bolting through the silvery clouds, through the massive golden doors, shot into the hall and danced on his face. The dark tones of his eyes were a much darker grey-black than Doc had ever seen before, and he had to blink a few times before following his gaze. “I came back home after serving in Amaranth’s military for a couple years and they were gone. No one knows where they went. They just…disappeared.”

“I’m sorry.” Walking over, Doc touched Cub’s arm. The man turned to him and smiled, lifting his head.

“I’m alright. Now, I’m guessing you want to go to Pike’s Point. Have enough room for another travel buddy?” Hypno let out a huff of air like a snicker, and Doc grinned at him. Cub returned it, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Sitting on the hall’s eaves, high above their heads and almost completely unnoticeable against the blond birch wood and marble of the ceiling, a dove tilted its head, spread its wings, and then fluttered out into the sky to report to its master.

+++

Grian was sitting in front of some sort of…shrine.

Iskall didn’t know exactly what it was, but he watched from a distance with the others as Grian set up some of the candles. They’d all been walking around looking for him, and now they’d found him in the woods at Pike’s Point. Calling it a shrine was rather generous, actually, but it was the only word Iskall could think of for the moment. Earlier, the young man had bought a couple candles from one of the marketplace stalls, then some rations for the night, and then he’d left and they’d had to go looking for him.

Lighting one of the candles, Grian set it down on the rock and then settled down in front of it, pulling a blanket around himself and letting out a long breath. None of them spoke, standing in the shadows of the trees and watching. Iskall couldn’t see much, but he knew Grian had placed two pictures down. Of the one he could see, he could see a young man standing with what was doubtlessly a younger Grian, both smiling brightly at whoever had taken the image. The stranger had black hair and dark eyes, and a red-and-blue necklace around their neck. Six other candles were placed by Grian’s knees. The candelight flickered and Grian pulled the blanket a little closer around himself.

Stress took a step forwards.

Joe grabbed her wrist before she could step very far. The others—Iskall, Mumbo, Etho, and Wels—all looked to the bard, who spoke very softly. His eyes were focused on the scene in front of them. “Some shadows must be faced alone, and a vigil for lost loved ones is never easy.” Slowly, he started guiding them back towards the inn.

Glancing back, Iskall watched the candles flicker, swore he saw tears running down the young man’s cheeks.

+++

When Jevin arrived at the hut, the witch looked up and chuckled once.

“Well, dearie, it seems you’re back again.” She crooned, running a hand through her choppy, blue-grey hair. Pale green eyes held his as he walked into the hut, setting his bag down by the door and looking around. Pulling out yet another flower, he handed it over and she took it eagerly. “Thank you. Now, what’s the problem? Sit on the bed, that bench sucks.”

He sighed and then sat down on the bed beside her cat. “It’s what we talked about last time. It’s happened again.” Freezing as she planted the flower in a flowerpot on the window sill, she turned to look at him with wide eyes. Glancing him up and down, she blinked a few times and secured the flower in its place.

“Take off your shirt, let me see.” She ordered. Slowly, he reached back and tugged his shirt off by the back of his collar. As he did, she sucked in a sympathetic breath and walked over, crouching in front of him and letting her fingers brush his shoulder. The entirety of his shoulders and chest had turned the same sky-coloured tone as the slime side of his face. “It’s growing.”

“Yeah. I thought it had stopped.”

“No, it was never going to stop. Not permanently.” Her eyes flicked up to him, holding nothing but sympathy. “I’m afraid you don’t have much time left, my dear.” He took a breath and looked away.

“So there’s nothing you can do?” She tilted her head from side to side and then shook her head, then turned and walked over to a cauldron sitting in one corner of her hut. Pulling out some potions, she came and handed it over.

“I can give you something for the pain.” She pressed them into his hands, and he stared at the pale blue shimmer of the liquid inside. “You won’t go crazy, though, so that’s something. Right?” Numbly, he nodded, eyes still focused blankly on the potions. Taking a breath, he slowly pulled on his shirt and avoided looking at the blue crossing his whole body. “Hey,” her hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up to meet her gaze. “I suggest making your peace with it now. No good will come of hating yourself for something you cannot control.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Looking down at the potion, he took a breath and then sighed, “Thank you, again.” Slowly, he got up and then scooped up his bag, carefully placing the potions inside. “I’ll see if I can find you again sometime later. Maybe this time I’ll have a wither rose, right?” Smiling weakly over his shoulder, he waited until she nodded to wave goodbye and then leave.

She watched his silhouette fade into the sunset.

+++

Six doves made their way back to the fortress upon a hill.

Six doves with information to report. Six doves who had spied on the newest heroes, the dangerous ones. Seven had been set out, but only six would return.

Fluttering down into the elegant throne room with the minimalistic throne, they settled down on the eaves. The doors opened, and two guards in gold-plated armour dragged a struggling prisoner in. From where he sat on the throne, before the podium with the golden bowl of water, the man looked up and smiled chillingly. “Hello, little hero.” He mused, and the guards threw the person forwards so they sprawled on the rug leading to the throne.

Sitting up and spitting out blood, the person glared up at him. Eyes the same silvery blue as moondrop flower petals narrowed, and they spat out, “You.”

Smirking, the man sat back on his throne. “Indeed. It is me.” Gesturing to himself, he swirled a hand in the water in a way that could only be defined as bored. “Is there anything else you want to say? Some dramatic speech—”

“You’re not getting away with this—”

“Oh, there it is.” Side-eyeing the elf, he tipped his head from one side to the other and mused, “Well, if I’m not getting away with this, I’m thinking it’s because you think I’m a villain.”

“You are a villain.”

“And you’re from the group of supposed _heroes_ who _mysteriously_ had one of their own members vanish. The Red Rock Tavern group.” Scoffing, he mused, “More like the Roach Rock Tavern. You heroes are seemingly impossible to kill.” He swirled his fingers in the water once more, watched it start to glow gold, and then mused, “Of course, I can fix that.”

The elf opened her mouth to speak, and he shot her a sharp look. Eyes narrowing, she held his gaze and took a few breaths. Blood dripped down from a cut above her hairline, and blond locks spilled across her shoulders. “Someone’s going to beat you. You’re nothing more than a two-bit bandit who thinks that he’s a king. I’m sure some group of—”

He waved a hand and the elf jerked as a burst of magic wrapped around her neck and yanked her into the air. Pulling her close, he tilted his head to the side and leaned close enough they were nearly nose to nose. A dangerous light danced in his eyes, and she leered away as best she could. Even with the hood shielding most of his face, so she could really only see where the light from the pool hit his nose and jaw, his eyes glowed with their own light. Leaning back, she took a few shaky breaths and looked away, trembling ever so slightly. “You have no _idea_ what I am, my dear.” Slowly, he stood up, and the magic wrapping around her tightened. “I am no two-bit bandit. I’ve killed gods before. _I_ took down _the Storm Riders. I_ took down _Tharival Faust Calish._ You’re an elf, I’m sure you know who he is.” He produced a thin silver dagger with the flick of his wrist, dragging it along her jaw and nicking her chin. A few beads of red blood dripped down the blade, and she sucked in another breath as he smeared it across her face. Blinking, his eyes still glowing like stirred embers at midnight, he continued, “You think you can beat me at my game? Some little elf girl who grabbed a sword and deemed herself capable of someone of _my_ calibre? You think you can kill me? You can kill a dragon, you can kill an acid serpent, you can even kill a Glaedirian chimera,” there was a flutter at the window above, but he ignored it, “but me?” Leaning closer, he grabbed her by the hair and whispered, “I’m ten thousand years old, sweetheart. An Athava. You can’t even _touch_ me.”

Dropping her, he stepped back and went to the throne. Shaking and staring up at him with wide eyes, the elf sank to her knees panting. “What should we do with her, my liege?” One of the guards asked. For the first time, she looked at him and her eyes widened. Beneath the helmet, there was nothing more than shadows and two glowing blue lights where there should have been eyes.

Looking back over his shoulder at her from where he leaned over the pool, the man turned and looked back with a soft smirk. “Kill them all. Their little friend will know what happened to them, and we only need one messenger.” The elf wailed and clawed weakly at the guards as they dragged her away. Meanwhile, the Athava turned and smiled down into the water, looking at the reflection of the windowsill above. He turned, his glowing eyes meeting the gaze of the two birds sitting there. They were not his doves. Rather, it was a golden eagle with unnatural, green-streaked amber eyes, and a black raven with a white chest and white feathers by its leg.

The eagle shifted uncomfortably, whilst the raven glared down at him.

A smirk danced on the man’s features. “Be cautious, be wise, little birds. I’d _hate_ to be the cause of your demise.” The birds shuffled their wings, then turned and flew off.

He watched them disappear, chuckling softly to himself.

+++

A young man limped along the cobblestone alleyways of Dallara.

Around him, rain pattered down on the stones, ducking between the little moss-coated gaps between each one. Streetlight beams bounced off the puddles, and he wrapped his cloak closer around him and he looked up at the tall, brick-and-stone houses around him. Light shone through some of the windows, dark curtains blocking out the view of the inside. Pulling his cloak closer, he glanced at the street signs and then turned left down one of the streets. He came to a stop at the stone stairs of one of the townhouse buildings, a three-story brownstone with grey bricks outlining each of the windows. Taking a breath, he strode up the stairs and glanced around, green eyes darting over the silent streets, before he knocked on the dark oak of the door.

It opened, and a bird swooped into the house with water dripping from its feathers. Banking around, it landed gently on a coatrack, watching the stranger with dark, intelligent eyes. Meanwhile, the man who opened the door was a scrawny half-elf with tawny hair, a patchy beard along his jawline, and faded silvery-grey eyes. His face brightened a little bit as he recognised who had joined him and he grinned broadly. “Scar Goodwin! My good friend, it’s been years!”

Scar smiled at him broadly, taking a deep breath. “Judah Byron. It certainly has.” Glancing around, Scar’s green eyes narrowed when he saw someone standing at the edge of the alley. He took a breath and let his voice echo down the alley. “I thought it was about time for a visit, I hope you don’t mind.”

Judah’s eyes darted towards the person and recognition flashed through them. Stepping back, he clapped Scar on the shoulder and said, “Come in, come in. How rude of me, keeping you standing here in the rain! I have some tea being made right now, come enjoy a cup with me!” Laughing, the two men walked into the house, and Judah shut the door. Turning to the crow. He stroked long, thin fingers along its back and smiled when it shook some more water off. Then he looked to Scar and arched an eyebrow. “What is this about, Scar? I haven’t seen you since you got that scar, and I doubt this is a social visit.”

Scar held his gaze, a mix of darkness overshadowing his usually cheerful expression. In the light streaming in from the sconces hanging on the wall, the scar across his nose made him look much older than he was. He took a short breath, eyes holding Judah’s.

“I need to call in a favour.” Judah’s eyebrows knit together in concern, and he glanced over at the crow. Tilting its head to the side, it blinked a few times and then fluttered its wings, looking to the windowsill. Both men followed its gaze, and there sat a dove. Scar glanced at Judah, who nodded, and then looked at the dove. Snapping his fingers, Scar watched with glowing eyes as the dove’s feathers were rent through with dark red blood. Jerking once, it fell back and went limp, dropping out of their view. “We should go somewhere else. Too many eyes and too many secrets.”

Judah nodded and touched his shoulder, adding, “I know exactly where we need to go. _Avidor_ ,” the crow snapped its head towards them, and Judah continued, “Care to come with us?”

The crow hopped onto Judah’s shoulder, and the two men made their way deeper into the house.

+++

Xisuma let out a pained grunt as their shoulder slammed into the grass, their sparring partner pinning them to the dew-covered strands with a foot on their chest.

“You’re not using your magic.” Keralis’ voice was confused if anything, and Xisuma stared up at their mentor and took a breath. He let them up, and they rolled to the side before jumping to their feet. “You need to use your magic.”

“It’s unpredictable. I can’t control it.”

“You could be killed if you don’t use it.” There was a ruckus, and both of them turned to see a raven and a white dove clashing. The raven’s beak tore into the dove’s neck, and the dove fell to the ground. Turning, the raven watched them and settled down. “Thank you.” Keralis looked back to them, and Xisuma sighed and studied the ground. “What’s holding you back, Xisuma?”

“Nothing’s holding me back. I can’t use my magic. It’s too unpredictable. We don’t—I don’t even know what it is.” Xisuma closed their eyes, and the image of themself in a crown driving a blade into their stomach came back to them. Shuddering, they looked up and turned to look at the dead dove where it lay. “Keralis…can we cut my hair?”

“What?” The dove’s blank eyes stared at them, and they swallowed. After a moment, they repeated themself quietly.

“Can we cut my hair? I want it gone.” They ran a hand to the back of their helmet, then stopped and hesitated. Keralis’ expression softened a little.

“Yeah, yeah, we can do that. Come on, let’s…let’s get that done.” It was an odd request, they both knew it, but it was—it had to be done. “Are you sure we want to do this?” Keralis asked a few moments later, when he had Xisuma sitting in front of him without a helmet, with their hair falling loose around their shoulders.

“I’m sure. Please, Keralis.” There was a bit of hesitation, and Keralis took a short breath before there was the soft sound of a knife being drawn. Slowly, he started cutting away at the back of Xisuma’s hair. They closed their eyes, trying to force the image of themself wearing that accursed crown from their head.

“I’m gonna leave this a little longer upfront, just in case.” Keralis paused, and Xisuma slowly nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.” The image of Crown-Xisuma popped into Xisuma’s mind.

Triumphantly, they mused, _I will not become you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so basically, X’s hair originally fell to their shoulders and now it’s a lot shorter on the sides (like 1/2 inch tops) and then longer at the top and where it can hang in front of their eyes. This is a long note, written over several days, so feel free to skip some of it. Also, though you can call the wolf “The Voidwalker”, its name is not “Voidwalker”. It’s a title that you’ll find out more about the etymology of it once they get to Mora Phós.  
> So, I…kind of…maybe came out as ace to my dad with a joke and he didn’t even notice? We were talking about some politics stuff and how people are fine with teens sleeping around (please don’t talk in the comments about that bit or I’m going to make it so that I have to okay comments before they come through) and I was like “well good thing I’m not interested in that” and he just gave me a thumbs up. Not really coming out but hey once Vanguard is out and my parents try talking to me about some of the queer rep in it I can just be like “Dad I told you I was ace already you know this”? Maybe?  
> Also I’m stressed so everything after Scar’s bit (which I wrote first) and Cleo’s bit, I wrote all that in a onesie. Also, I’m working on a Hermitcraft onesie thing that will probably be scribbled out sometime after this chapter is finished but I need to check word count at the moment. (This whole note is from over the course of a few days by the way it’s chaos).  
> I can still quote the AMPM Dodger Dogs commercial and I’m going to buy a Lego set to be completely unproductive and build something even though my room is horribly cluttered. (So I might clean that first). And I’m already being unproductive because I ignored my math Zoom meetings (it’s all review don’t worry) to write Doc’s bit.  
> TW for eating disorder mention but someone asked me if I have an eating disorder (I do not, in fact, have an eating disorder; as far as we know, I have a very fast metabolism but I’m 17 and a little over 100 pounds), and all I could think of was this time my family went to a graduation party (the brother’s of the girl who once told me I and the other gays basically belong in a certain kind of, ah, camp from the 40s. She’s since had MAJOR character development and as far as I know does not believe this anymore, but I use it as an example of what I’ve heard from people I trust as a statement that if you think you can scare me with some comment, I’m pretty sure this person’s dad could have shot me if he so wished after some authority figures outed me to him and if I act too out my dad may lose his job so you can’t do jack shit to me) and the family friend’s grandma looked me up and down like an English teacher looks their new gay student up and down and then commented, “You’re so skinny!” And then later I was told to give her the benefit of the doubt by my mother and grandma because “she’s probably just insecure” and my reaction now is a “I really don’t care if she’s insecure, it was an inappropriate comment to make in front of the whole dining room”. My cramps are killing me right now so I might make a random whumpy fic about it.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading! Y'all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope you have a lovely weekend! Hope to see you next Monday!


	11. VII: Dallara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team meets up in Pike’s Point Tavern in Pike’s Point, Dallara. Everyone catches up, it’s nice and fluffy…and then Scar shows up late to the party…with a bit of a problem? Sort of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from the 15: Everything you see here was written earlier in last week. Additionally, today's chapter was brought to you early by the fact my body decided it was going to make me take a break (aka I passed out, had a panic attack, and then threw up over the course of about two hours. I am fine, those have all happened before and I know how to handle it. In the end, I got a break from church, so...yeah.)
> 
> Probably going to be a majority-fluff chapter. Overall, this arc might be slightly shorter (like the whole arc might be a total of 8,000 to 16,000 words instead of the usual 24,000+). As you’ve likely noticed, there’s a lot less chapters compared to the others. Basically, it’s going to show that you have some people you need to avoid underestimating. (They’re still levelling up next interlude because I want them to).   
> Anyways, feel free to mention theories in the comments. (Just a note, I was listening to Impulse’s Nov. 6th stream and ended up typing in “in the Bible” instead and I don’t even know why, I’m sleep-deprived). Let’s jump into this!

Cub sat at the bar, picked up his mug and sipped it quietly, looking down at the envelope in his hand.

Sighing, he tucked it back in his bag, ignored the look that the barkeep was giving him, and then stabbed his pancakes with his fork. It wasn’t a bad meal by any means, but everything tasted…kind of dull, really. Strawberries and blueberries were scattered over the top of the pancakes, and there was a small serving of eggs and a few slices of bacon, so it wasn’t like it was a _bad_ meal in the slightest. _Come on, Cub. You need to eat something._

Doc and Hypno settled down on either side of him, Doc quickly ordering for them both. Hypno wasn’t wearing his typical, high-necked robes. Instead, a slightly thicker, loose black shirt hung around his frame. The neck dipped low enough that there was a thin, raised pink scar on his neck. It started about an inch below the hinge of his jaw on one side and stretched across in a steady, quick arc to the other side. The barkeep kept staring at it, eyes widened. “It’s rude to stare.” Doc murmured. Glancing over, Cub noticed the Cryor was staring down the barkeep, eyes slightly narrowed. Looking away with wide eyes, the barkeep dropped off their plates of food—ones that mirrored Cub’s own order. Then, she ducked away and started cleaning dishes, steam rising from the soapy water.

Hypno took a drink of his own water. “Hey. How’d you two sleep?” They’d shared a room, which was nice since it had been rather chilly that morning. He could still see where Hypno’s nails were still just a little pale at the edges. Face flushing, the monk rubbed his hands together and then signed something as well.

“He slept well. Says he’s cold.” Cub glanced down at the monk’s hand and arched an eyebrow, and Hypno let out a breathy laugh. “He’s fine, says his hands are always just naturally cold.” Shifting in his seat, Doc continued, “I slept fine. It’s _freaking cold_ here, though.”

“We _are_ in the mountains.” Cub mused, taking another sip of his drink and then shoving a chunk of pancake in his mouth. In the middle of chewing, he felt someone slap the back of his shoulder and he nearly choked. He jolted and glanced back over his shoulder.

Biffa grinned at him, Beef facepalming behind the blond and shaking his head. “Morning, Cub! How was your winter?”

“Pretty good.” Deciding not to bring up his futile search for a messenger, Cub continued, “If a little cold.”

“Hah! This isn’t _cold_ , I grew up in the—” Biffa was cut off by Beef slapping a meaty hand over his mouth and shoving him back. Hopping up on the seat beside Hypno, he ordered something, then turned back to his companion.

“Stop acting like growing up in the Silver Badlands makes you superior to someone else, it’s rude and annoying.” He snapped, stabbing the ham set in front of him with a knife like he was hoping it was Biffa’s hand. Apparently mollified, Biffa ducked his head, hopped up beside his fellow dwarf, and then ordered. Money passed hands, and all of them settled down to eat. “I saw some of the others’ horses outside. Do you know who’s here?”

“Not Scar. Pretty sure he’s still out trying to bring his cat back from the Aether.” Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Beef mused, “I don’t know _how_ he managed to get his cat stuck in the _Aether_ , but I’m not sure I even want to know. Uh…I think Bdubs and the Three Idiots—”

“Who?”

“Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango.” Waving a hand, Beef continued, “I haven’t seen many of the other—” He cut off when Hypno started signing quickly, and Doc paid attention. “Uh…Doc, what’s he saying? I have—I can’t understand sign yet.”

“Then _learn_. Hypno, _Hypno_ —” The monk turned to him and paused, and Doc grinned softly. “Slow down, I’m not that good yet.” The pair started signing over Cub, and he continued to eat his food the whole time. “Ah. Okay. He says he knows Jevin’s not here yet. Iskall, Wels, Etho, Stress, Grian, Joe, and Mumbo got here early. False and TFC are here, too, but they’re in a better inn down that way,” he pointed in the direction and then continued, “Keralis and Xisuma aren’t here either, and Ren and Cleo should be arriving today because he— _you got letters from them? When?—_ anyways, apparently they should be arriving today and so should Bdubs and— _who else are you getting letters from? When did this happen? How did I not see you we were together—_ ”

“Doc, stay on subject. _Please._ ” Beef groaned, and Biffa ducked his head even more. With a wry smile, Cub mused that it seemed like Biffa had probably been talking pretty much nonstop on the journey home. Doc cleared his throat awkwardly and then continued.

“Okay, sorry. Anyways, Bdubs and the Three Idiots should be showing up…tomorrow. He doesn’t know about Scar. xB is…wasn’t he with you?”

“Yeah, we didn’t see him that much. I think he straight up—”

“I am _right here_ , you idiots.” xB announced as he walked down the stairs. Everyone, including the barkeep, jumped and screamed, staring at him. Sitting on his head was none other than an owl. It was a mottled reddish-brown colour, and the dark ring around its face framed massive dark eyes. “This is Tawny. She is a tawny owl.” Tawny let out a sound that was so stereotypically owl, it almost wasn’t funny, fluffing her wings out a little bit.

When Biffa reached for her, she snapped at his fingers, hissed, and then said, “ _Hoo.”_ It was such an indignant _hoo_ that Biffa actually jolted back.

“Please don’t annoy her, she will punch your eye out.” Rubbing a large purple bruise on the side of his face, xB laughed nervously. “Like…she can punch your eye out. Tawny owls do that.”

“Oh…” Looking at them and leaning away none-too-subtly, Doc cleared his throat. “Uh…man I do _not_ envy the other teams, I cannot imagine having thirty people to keep track of. There’s you, me, you guys…Hypno, who didn’t we mention?” Both of them began counting on their fingers and then shared a glance with a shrug.

Laughing, the whole group started eating.

+++

When Bdubs, Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arrived earlier than expected, late that night, no one was actually awake.

The next morning, however, they were…greeted by an _interesting_ sight.

Stammering, Stress asked, “T-Tango, why— _why are you in a wedding dress?”_ Tango looked down at the dress and smoothed the white skirt out casually, throwing on a smile and shifting his shoulders so he looked like the stereotypical bride pictures they’d all seen at some time or another during some journey to the nearby marketplace.

“Because I’m _fabulous.”_ He said, flipping his bangs back a bit. Arching an eyebrow at her. Giggling, she shook her head and then turned to Etho, saying something. The assassin, meanwhile, simply shrugged.

“I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“I know, right?”

“There’s just…” Etho glanced him up and down and indicated the bloodstains on the skirt. “Why is there blood?”

“No comment.” Zedaph announced, and Impulse and Bdubs nodded almost sagely. The whole group exchanged a glance, and then started laughing their heads off. Tango’s cackle was so loud that it shocked the barkeep out of her daze. Glancing him up and down suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes and then started serving the others.

“What’s going on?” A soft voice asked, and they turned to see Cleo and Ren padding downstairs. The young woman had a bit more of a limp than she had before, and Ren had some bandages wrapped over his shoulder. The two looked between one another as they settled down, and he ordered. Sitting down and yawning softly, he took a deep breath and then downed a whole gallon of ale without even thinking. Crossing her arms on the table, she laid her head on her arms and then closed her eyes. Ren gently rubbed her shoulders, dismissed food for her from the barkeep and kept watch almost like she was his daughter.

_Maybe they_ are _family?_ Iskall wondered, looking them up and down. Cub, meanwhile, stretched and slowly stood up. “What are you thinking, Cub?” Biffa asked, glancing at him. Smiling, Cub glanced down at him and took a breath.

“Well, since we’re still waiting for some of our answers, I thought we may as well take a walk around Dallara. See if we can find the others and meet up with them.” Everyone shrugged and they all started to make their way out of the inn. Iskall kept walking, focusing ahead on what Dallara looked like.

Iskall had travelled before. Some of it was for assassin work, sure, but not all of it. Not everything he did was related to assassins, assassin work, etc. So he’d seen quite a few different places, a myriad of cultures and architecture. Most of it, he actually thought looked better than Glaedir’s common, almost minimalistic style. It was good for use and for practicality, but not what he preferred.

Meanwhile, Dallara was much better.

Most of the townhouses in Dallara were pretty things, multiple-story brownstones and brick-and-stone creations. Cobblestones littered the streets all around them, and flowerboxes sat beneath the windows of the buildings as they walked. Yawning and stretching, Iskall blinked the sleep-tears from his eyes and glanced around at the others. None of them seemed to be fully awake. Well, except for Cub and Ren, but they were freaks of nature and he wasn’t sure either of them were fully human.

(Sure, _Iskall_ wasn’t fully human, either, but he knew _he_ slept. Sometimes. Okay, rarely, but he’d never seen Cub or Ren sleeping!)

The sky above them was a nice, pale azure colour, and he smiled to himself as he watched the clouds dancing across the sky. “Wow. Iskall is _smiling?_ How strange.” Tango teased, and Iskall glanced over and arched an eyebrow at the tiefling. Grinning back at him, Tango ran a hand down his skirt and fluffed it out a little more. Why he was wearing the wedding dress, Iskall didn’t want to know and wasn’t sure he was ever going to find out anyways. (He didn’t look bad in it. Just…the blood…it was kind of worrying. He’d never thought of Tango as one to be violent, but he supposed…maybe he could be?) Vines wrapped along the sides of several of the brownstone houses’ sides, and he traced the patterns in the dark red brick with his eyes. The snow had begun to melt away, leaving large puddles in the streets that they had to skirt around. Water flowed into some of the storm drains beneath the walkways on either side, but there was hardly anyone on the street and they were a rather large group.

Taking a breath of the lovely mountain air, Iskall looked around at the others and then at the sky, with a sudden feeling of something watching him.

Perched on the scalloped black tiles of one of the roofs was a bird. Sunlight danced on its feathers, lighting them in brilliant shades of a deep, purplish-black at its wings and jet black at its shoulders and chest. There was a brilliant flash of white feathers across its chest and at its left leg. Intelligent eyes focused on Iskall, held him there almost like it was searching his soul the whole time. _What the heck?_ Taking a breath as a sudden chill wrestled over him, he realised that there was _blood_ dripping down one of the spike ridges along the roof’s edge. Impaled on one of the spikes, the tip of the little metal blade piercing through its chest, was a white dove. When he glanced back at the raven, it twitched its wings and hopped along before snapping them open and closed to fly off.

Following it with his eyes, Iskall realised that he didn’t actually feel scared—he felt… _safer_ , somehow.

Cub suddenly stopped, and Iskall glanced over to see him looking at a little kid sitting in the alleyway. They were a human as far as Iskall could tell, covered in dirt and obviously begging. Everyone else followed Cob’s gaze, and Iskall snorted before turning to walk away. “Iskall.” Stress gasped, and he turned to look at her. There was a mix of confusion on her face, but he turned away and waited. It wasn’t that Iskall _wouldn’t_ help the kid—he would have under any normal circumstance—but he didn’t have the ability to. Not right then. (He wasn’t exactly _rich_ , hadn’t had any assignments in a while).

Meanwhile, Cub crouched down in the dirt. The little kid looked at him with wide eyes, mud smeared across their cheeks. “Hey.” He murmured. Lowering his head a little bit and smiling softly, he pulled some money and a wrapped loaf of bread from his bag. When he held it out, the kid glanced at the gifts he was offering, then him. “It’s okay. You can take it.”

The kid grabbed them, seemed to say something, and Cub slowly got up and began walking away. Iskall followed after him, the others not too far behind. Rising from the city outline in front of them, he could see what he guessed was one of the World Maker’s churches. There weren’t many, but it had been a good…several millennia since—

_Oh, hey, there’s that bird again._ Looking at the gold-plated roof, Iskall squinted and saw the black and white raven sitting on the edge. When their gazes met, it fluttered down to a lower tower and alighted on the edge of a statue. It lifted one wing and ducked its head, almost like it was a young man trying to hide his blushing after his crush kissed his cheek. Smiling inquisitively, Iskall watched the bird as they ducked beneath the massive gilded arches of the church.

“This is frivolous.” Doc commented rather grumpily, and Iskall glanced at him and shrugged.

“It’s beautiful, though. Isn’t it?” Stress asked, and the Hermits’ cleric (it was weird to call themselves the _Hermits_ , even though it was certainly less of a mouthful than “The White Lion Tavern Group” whatever number they were was) shrugged again. The raven from outside fluttered in and alighted on the polished marble tiles in front of them. It started walking along, hopping every so often and chattering to Doc. “Are…are ravens allowed in here?”

“Yes, they are.” Crouching, Doc held out his arm. The raven immediately hopped over and up, chattering softly to him as he helped it settle on his shoulder.

“Doc…can you…” He glanced over at Etho, who had tilted his head slightly to the side. “Can you talk to ravens? Because that’s cool.”

“Ravens are one of the World Maker’s symbols.”

“Wait, one of?” Doc nodded again, and Impulse blinked a few times. “Like, they have more than one symbol?”

“Well they are the _World Maker_ , technically everything is their symbol.” Doc explained, pausing in front of a massive stained-glass windows. It depicted a massive, glowing deer-looking thing on first glance. On second glance, however, Iskall realised that it wasn’t _quite_ a normal-looking deer. Garlands of green hedges wreathed around its shoulders, and the deer’s fur was an unnatural glowing, golden tawny hue that couldn’t quite be explained away as artist’s rendition. Specks of purple-blue spattered its shoulders and back, its hooves and antlers were made of the same colour, and its eyes were a piercing silver.

xB strode over and stood in front of the massive window, an odd look on his face. “What are you thinking about, xB?” Beef asked as he and the others walked over. Iskall kept studying the image. The deer was painted against dark forest, but doves were flapping around its head. Several laid scattered on the ground.

“I was just…thinking. I saw something like this.” xB mused, turning to them. “When I was on the way to Pike’s Peak, I was with another halfling woman. I don’t think she ever told me her name, but we were riding along when we were attacked by some sort of…shadow monster. Monsters, plural.” Glancing back at the deer, he breathed out, so quiet it barely passed his lips, “And I think this thing saved us.”

The raven squawked almost indignantly, hopped over to xB’s shoulder and began pecking lightly at the halfling’s shoulder armour. Glancing over, he met its gaze. On his other shoulder, Tawny leaned towards the raven and preened some of the feathers on its head. “Okay, that’s…kind of weird. Don’t tawny owls eat ravens?” Zedaph asked. Meanwhile, Bdubs had wandered off. Iskall watched the warlock walk up to some sort of altar in the middle of the room.

“I don’t know. I’m not an expert on tawny owls.” The raven hopped back over to Doc and chattered something, and the Cryor chuckled. “He doesn’t like the temple. Says it’s not his style.”

“Right. Because ravens know what style is.” Tango mused, and the raven shot him a quelling look before flying off. “Did I make it mad?”

The raven fluttered down into the hand of one of the statues standing above the altar Bdubs was kneeling in front of. Doc followed, sat down beside the warlock. “Okay, I’m going to stay…over here, then.” Tango mused, glancing up at the stained glass. “Or, actually, I’m going to leave. They may not want tieflings in here. Might sully their beloved god’s greatness.” Shaking his hands, Tango left. Zedaph and Impulse followed along, and Iskall watched them before turning to Cub.

“I’m going to go outside with them, make sure they don’t get into any trouble. Do you want to come with me?” He asked, and Cub thought for a moment before nodding. As they walked out, he noticed the Three Idiots had settled in by the fountain. Tango was letting his tail drift in the waters, a soft look on his face. Beside him, Zedaph was polishing his ocarina and Impulse was braiding some of Tango’s hair together.

“Oh, sir! Sir!” Footsteps thudded on the marble steps behind them, and Iskall and Cub turned to see a young messenger running up. In their tanned hand was a little envelope the same tawny-yellow as whiskey with sunlight streaming through it. When the messenger paused in front of Cub, panting, they added, “It’s from…I couldn’t read the name…” Someone called them, and they jolted upright. “Apologies, sir, I need to go.”

“Alright.” Cub paid the poor teen, and they sprinted off. Reading over the letter, Cub frowned and then snarled all of a sudden. Iskall looked to him.

“Are you alright, Cub?” Iskall asked, looking at him with concern. A certain kind of anger lingered in Cub’s eyes as they narrowed. His fingertips clenched the envelope with a little more force than they normally would. This was no sign of fear. No, this was…this was something else. _No wonder Cub is a fighter,_ the back of Iskall’s mind, where the voice that studied people and came up with their vaults mused. With a jolt of horror, Iskall realised something about Cub.

Turning to Iskall, he smiled. Not only did it not reach his eyes, it barely left his lips. There was a certain dead, glassy look to his eyes, steely not in the way of newly-forged armour but instead in the bloodstained, graceful flash of a champion’s sword. “I’m fine, Iskall.” Then, he turned…and he walked towards Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango. As Iskall watched him, a chill settled over the assassin’s bones that didn’t come from the temperature. This was no cold winter’s day. No piercing breeze could force this kind of arctic frost into one’s body, deep past blood and bone into the very marrow of his soul. In the midmorning sunlight, the hilt of Cub’s blade flashed, and Iskall blinked a few times. When Iskall met a person, he immediately looked for their weaknesses, places he could exploit if he turned against them or they against him. For most of the Hermits, he could usually just go off the fact he had more skill than they did, duck past their defences for a quick hit. False was too strong on offence, not quite used to the feel of a blade in her hand. She had potential, but she needed to know how to wield it. Jevin’s Visho side warred with his human side, he was split and uncertain. Yes, he may have been a commanding officer, but Iskall’s services had been asked of by the king of Glaedir himself. He’d had years of training, of experience, of his own instincts.

But nothing, _nothing_ , could have prepared him for when he realised that, of all the Hermits, he had _nothing_ to go on with Cub.

Only a strong sense that, if Cub decided to turn against them, he could slaughter them all without a second thought.

+++

TFC, False, Keralis, and Xisuma arrived together later that week.

By then, most of the stragglers had arrived. As Xisuma looked around the tiny inn room, at the rest of their hermits, they couldn’t help but smile to themself. They were all safe, although perhaps a little changed for their travels. Sadness shadowed some of their expressions—Bdubs’ in particular, although it was hard to tell from the way he was chatting away with Hypno in deft movements of their hands. Tango was lying on one of the beds, tail lashing every so often and his back facing the rest of the room. Impulse and Zedaph were beside him, the latter rubbing between his shoulders and talking softly while Impulse allowed Tango’s tail to wrap around his arm every few seconds. Whatever it was that happened, Xisuma would either find out later or not at all. Grian was allowing Stress to braid flowers into his hair, chatting excitedly with her and Ren and Cleo. TFC was discussing something with Mumbo and Joe, showing off some of his magic.

_Like your own, which you can’t control._ Blinking a few times, Xisuma adjusted their helmet and took a breath. “X!” Jolting, they turned to see Cleo waving at them. “Come over here, hang out with us. You look tense.”

Glancing at Keralis, who smiled and then went back to his discussion, Xisuma wandered over. It wasn’t that they _needed_ permission from Keralis for anything. Just, lately… _your powers make you a monster. You’re going to destroy everyone, including Keralis. Maybe you should leave._

“Hey, Cleo.” Settling down on the bed beside the green-skinned nymph (was she a nymph? They got the sense she wasn’t quite…alive, if that made any sense. It didn’t to them), Xisuma glanced down at the variety of daisies and tulips Stress was working into Grian’s shaggy hair. “I do not envy you, Grian, no offence.”

“None taken.” Leaning back against Xisuma’s legs, Grian grinned up at them and then shifted over to Stress. Eyes focused on Xisuma, and they looked up to see Iskall talking with Doc, Jevin, and Wels. A shiver ran through their shoulders when the three turned to look at them. “They’re only looking because you’re staring at them, X.”

“Y-yeah, sure.” _Stupid. You need to trust your own teammates. If you can’t trust them, how are you supposed to find the_ Crown? “How were your winters?”

“Pretty good. We kind of just all stayed around Pike’s Point.” Stress admitted, and Cleo and Ren both nodded. Beef, xB, and Biffa staggered in. Well, really, Beef and xB helped Biffa in. The blond dwarf was smashed, giggling and drunk. On the bed, Tango’s shoulders stiffened up and Zedaph spoke soothingly to him. His tail tightened around Impulse’s arm and the young man grimaced but did little more than rub Tango’s tail a few times.

Taking a breath, Xisuma turned back to the conversation and smiled, letting themself get more caught up in it.

+++

The day Scar arrived was…interesting.

Well, actually, the day itself wasn’t the interesting thing.

“Guys, I got my cat!” Scar called, holding up what Xisuma just had to assume was Jellie. Jellie, apparently, was a grey tabby and white cat with wide green eyes. Flicking her tail, she meowed a few times.

Meanwhile, Xisuma’s attention was drawn to…behind Scar.

Tilting their head, they walked up and cleared their throat. “Uh…Scar?” He turned to them wide bright green eyes. There was a grin on his face. Behind him, some of the goats bleated and everyone’s attention started to be drawn to the animals. And the carts.

“Yeah, Xisuma?”

Xisuma looked to Scar, then to the wagons, and then back. Swallowing, they asked, “Scar…what the heck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, kings, queens, and monarchs!  
> Excuse one of the most awkward endings ever, that was just where my mind went “okay time to work on other stuff noodle”. The next four chapters are planned out after this and it is literally five minutes after midnight, November 7th of 2020. Also, I have the Roman Numerals for 100 chapters and of those about 48 have names because Interludes are hard to figure out until you have the scene in front of you. Might introduce Skizzle into the story because he has an entertaining dynamic with Impulse and the other hermits. Either way, we’re getting to the fun chapters.   
> I am not implying that Iskall would ignore someone in need, but Assassin Iskall and Hermit Iskall are still fairly different people considering I don’t think Hermit Iskall has ever been swallowed by a giant fish while hunting down someone.   
> (Also my brother gave me bacon and that was pretty nice. Then I nearly passed out and I kind of wish I had because then I could be like “oh hey Mrs C I nearly passed out but I’m still doing my monologue because I want this thing over with” but honestly I’ll be taking two college classes next semester so I’m dropping theatre anyways. Sad day but whatever. Before you yell at me to take my meds, I do not have any and I have no diagnoses that mean I take meds, otherwise my parents would be on me like the Raven you see is on those doves.)


	12. IX: Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole chapter is literally just a bit of a flashback of Scar’s dealmaking mixed in with some travelling with the stupid carts and some mild drama as they try to get to Silver Heights.  
> Oh, yeah, and there’s some stuff going on in the background you get to know about but no one else does. This is going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from when this was published: All of these author's notes are old and I'm too lazy/tired/etc to change them. I'm just posting this chapter now because I wanted to put something up on Monday and stick to my regular schedule, even though there was an update yesterday.   
> Hahahah this is going to be a fun chapter. Probably fairly short, yet again. Also if there was transphobic rhetoric in Tango wearing a wedding dress and everyone being surprised but okay with it, I’m sorry I didn’t realise it was there and I still do transphobic/homophobic stuff without realising it all the time because the environment I’m currently in is incredibly toxic for queer people (as in I am not as out as I wish I could be because it could potentially be incredibly dangerous. Like as in I had someone say they’d “slap some sense” into their friend if they came out as trans, I’ve had someone throw a table at me once, and I’ve been outed multiple times. If you’re like any of those kinds of people, please rethink what you do before you get someone beat up and/or killed).   
> Some of this is a flashback, so it does not take place at the current time of the story except in specific areas which will be marked in italics. So, basically, normally I’d use italics to jump back, but this is italics to jump forwards instead. Sorry for any inconvenience this might cause!  
> Also, there is some major potty language in this chapter, and one of the characters gets kind of creepy. There’s nothing sexual about it, he literally just comments about how he wants to torture someone pretty graphically.

_The Hermits~_

“So, Scar, care to explain why you got the…all this?” False asked, indicating the cattle and the wagons and everything else. Meanwhile, Tango and Ren were going through everything there. Some of the horses whinnied, greeting the others. In their mind, Xisuma was going over all of the calculations.

Laughing weakly, Scar mused, “I—well—I had to call in a favour? We kind of need to do some stuff.” He made a gesture. Everyone looked at him, and his face flushed. Around his shoulders, his cat Jellie started purring loudly. “It’s a long…story?” Doc crossed his arms, and Scar ducked his head, embarrassed.

“We have time.” Doc mused, and Scar rubbed Jellie’s back and spine for a few moments.

Taking a breath, he mused, “Uh…”

+++

_Scar’s Deal~_

“No. No, way.”

Scar stared at Judah Byron with wide eyes, straightening up. “You promised you would help me, Judah! We had a deal, you owe me a favour.”

Staring at him as he rose from the table, Judah sighed, He ran a hand over his face, countered, “I am—yes, I owe you a favour, and I will _gladly_ fulfil it—"

“Then fulfil it right now—”

“—but I am _not_ about to send you _on the most dangerous mission possible_. Scar, are you even _listening_ to yourself?” Judah faced him dead-on, faded eyes glittering with concern. Meanwhile, Scar stared him down. “Do you know what’ll happen if they catch you? The—do you know what’s happened since you were banished.”

“I was never banished, I left of my own accord.”

“Scar, this is asinine. I’m not going to let you just—you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Then I die. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Judah’s eyes flickered over the scar across his face. Reaching up to touch it, Scar continued in a sharp tone, “I know what I’m doing. The trade routes are safer than the mountain paths. And if I’m right—” Placing a hand on the table, he leaned closer and continued in a quiet voice. It was almost like he didn’t dare let it be heard by anyone else who may be in the room, even though they were alone except for Judah’s raven friend. “If I’m right, taking the mountain paths would be suicide.”

“Taking this mission would be suicide, Scar.” Sighing, Judah ran a hand over his face, looking down at a map of the trade routes and mountain paths from Pike’s Point, Dallara, to Silver Heights. His eyes flicked up to his friend. “I’m not sending you somewhere only for you to be killed. Not with this. I’ll do anything else.”

“You promised me, Judah. You _swore_ that you owed me a favour.” Scar riposted hotly, and Judah looked away with a sharp breath. “I’m not wrong. I know what I’m doing.”

“Right, like you did in the library.”

“That was different and you know it.”

“Oh, really?” Judah’s eyes snapped to meet his, and he stalked around the table to face off with Scar. “That was different? Because what I’m seeing is you,” he poked Scar in the chest, “making another reckless decision. Last time, you lost your job. Last time, you got that scar and nearly lost your sight.” Leaning in, so they were nearly nose to nose, Judah added in a hiss, “Last time, you lost your ability to walk. What are you willing to lose now?”

Scar’s gaze never faltered from his.

Both men stood at odds with another. A tense silence flooded the room, crackling with magical energy that threatened to let loose, the calm before the storm fracturing at the edges. The only sound was their soft breathing. Eventually, Judah’s raven (even though it really wasn’t anyone’s raven at all, it was its own being) cawed and flapped its wings. Catching their attention, it hopped down to the map and started moving around, pecking at little areas and clearly trying to communicate something. Both of them watched for a little while as it picked up some ink from an inkwell in its beak, then began drawing on the map.

Laughing softly, Scar mused, “Someone suddenly thinks they have artistic talent.” Judah sighed and shook his head, eyes closed. The tense air seemed to have broken some, in the good way this time.

As the raven pecked at the ink, both men realised it really _was_ managing to draw something.

Leaning over, both men watched as the ink started to form a shape. A wolf’s head, maybe not perfect but done well enough that they could realise what shape it was. It was sitting above where Hullenbráck would be. A few moments passed, and both men exchanged glances again. “Does that mean anything to you?” The raven kept hopping, continuing to use its beak to trace out a path in ink.

“Well…one of our missing party members is meant to meet us in Hullenbráck. I’m not sure who, though, I just know someone’s meant to meet us.” Smiling softly, he let out a scoff and chuckled, “Well, it looks like _someone_ agrees with me about the deal.”

Judah’s eyes darted to the map and he frowned. Concern crossed his face, and he glanced at Scar a few times before growling. “Look, I’ll help you with this. But I won’t count it as your favour. I’m more likely to get you killed than anything else.” Scar looked at him, and Judah sighed again. “I don’t want to get you all killed.”

Scar’s eyes went to the map in front of them, and he mused, “If I get anyone killed, then it’ll just be me—and I think that’ll be enough to pay for what I’ve done at any rate.”

+++

_Ooh A Wild POV Has Appeared!_

Fire flickered over the buildings, and the King of Doves strode out through the ashes of the town.

A smirk danced on his lips as he walked around, a sword hanging at his hip. As he moved, he took a breath of the smoke behind his curved, elegant white mask. “Do you see this, little boy?” Turning, he nodded to his subordinates and they dragged their prisoner forwards. “What do you think of it?”

Their prisoner hit the ground and lifted their head. Blood dripped down from a cut somewhere beyond their hairline, staining their greasy, dirty white hair a bright scarlet where it plastered the strands to their forehead. Bright scarlet eyes glittered in the flames surrounding them both. Dirty clothes hung from their shoulders, and they took a breath of the smoke before coughing violently through their wrecked, damaged lungs. They were dirty, in pain, and hurting, but no one seemed to care. If anything, the soldiers around them smirked and scoffed, looking around at the fire triumphantly.

Tilting his head, the King of Doves scoffed and looked around. Some of the people living in the village were still alive, judging by the screaming, but apparently not enough. “You’re going to pay for this.” The prisoner rasped, voice barely audible. The snap and crackle of flames lashed through the air. The stench of burning flesh and death billowed into the air, cloying it until none of them could quite breathe properly anymore.

The King watched them, shaking his head. “Oh, darling.” He walked over and crouched, leaning forwards to whisper in their ear. They shuddered as hot breath washed over their skin, closing their eyes. “I can do whatever I want. Don’t you understand?” When he withdrew, he grabbed the captive by the throat, turned their head from one side to the other. “Such a shame that I might have to kill you. You’re such a pretty face. I’d love to keep you, petrify you from the legs up. Use my magic so you can’t make any other expression than what I want you to as you feel your heart and lungs turn to stone.” The captive stared at him, and he raised a hand. Leaning away, the captive closed their eyes, turned their head away until their neck was craned at an awkward angle.

“F-fuck you.” The captive breathed. He let out a mighty laugh, and they flinched away from him. Rising to his feet, the King smiled coldly down at them, then summoned a sword. They stared at the blade, chest shuddering.

A roar echoed through the clouds.

The King of Doves’ eyes flickered through the clouds, following a dim silhouette. Smirking behind the mask, he tipped his head to the side, looked at his captive from the corner of it. When he spoke, he had the tone of someone who knew they had won did. After all, the screaming had long since been silenced. Blood dripped from the swords of every one of the soldiers. “It looks like _someone’s_ finally showed their face. Hold the blade to that one’s throat.”

“What—” The captive was shoved forward, one of the blood-tarnished blades pressed to their throat. They swallowed, and a thin slit made itself known from the painful sting. Wincing, they glanced at the King. He smiled again, then looked to the sky as the smoke clouds parted around the creature they’d shrouded a second before.

Massive feathered wings, pitch black at the arms like the rest of its body before they shifted into the same hues as fire, canvassed the sky as it beat away the smoke. Narrowed eyes honed in on the state of the captive, of the King standing before them. A flinty black beak opened and shut a few times, chattering in an ancient language none of the soldiers recognised. “I wouldn’t suggest coming any closer. I’ll have my warriors slit this one’s throat in an instant.” The King declared, gesturing back to his captive. “I’m sure you’d hate for your lovely Xisuma to suffer, wouldn’t you? Imagine—”

The phoenix snapped its wings forward, and a rush of cool wind settled over them all. Rain thundered down around them as lightning split the sky, coming from a horde of mighty stormclouds that hadn’t been there moments before. Frost flooded through the area as the flames choked, destroyed in mere heartbeats. Throwing his head back with a mighty laugh, the King shook his head. The phoenix, however, snarled and landed. **_Silence. You know as well as we do what your actions might bring._** Dark eyes the same hazel-brown as smoky topaz or mossy tree bark flicked between the King and his captive. There was a question in the phoenix’s eyes, and the captive sucked in a sharp breath. **_Are you alright, child of the Void?_**

Shakily, the captive nodded, blinking a few times. The soldiers withdrew their blades when the King waved a hand. “So you _do_ care for them. How ironic, considering what they’ve done.”

The phoenix’s eyes narrowed. One of the soldiers aimed an arrow at its breast, fired. The bolt lodged in the red-streaked black feathers there, and everything fell into a hush. Shoulders shifting and chest expanding, the phoenix narrowed sits eyes and looked at him. All of a sudden, the soldier grabbed at his throat and fell to his knees, choking and gasping. Swirls of golden light flooded up from the ground, wrapped around and over his knees as they slowly travelled up his body. Opening his mouth in a silent scream, the soldier crumbled to the side. Blood dripped to the ground, and the captive stared at the man while almost hyperventilating. Before the soldier hit the dirt, he’d crumbled into golden dust.

**_Do not test us, boy._** The phoenix hissed. **_We may not be able to join the fight ourself, but we do not need physical form to destroy you. We have allies._**

“As do I, little bird.” Waving his hand at the army, the King scoffed, “What do you have that I do not?”

There was a sharp whistle, then a massive explosion.

A silhouette flitted over them all, small wings darting by. A masked figure banked around, bow in hand. A laugh echoed around them all, and the figure threw something forwards, blue wings snapping forwards as they backpedalled away from an arrow onslaught. “Hold your weapons!” The King ordered, eyes narrowing, one hand raised. The phoenix unfolded its wings, looked to the captive. A message seemed to pass between them, and the captive nodded once. There was a flash of light, and they pressed their palms against the ground. Slowly, slowly, wisps of purple smoke flooded from the ground around them. The chains holding them hissed and sparked, and a grimace crossed their face. The King whirled to look at them, wide-eyed, and his captive grinned.

“Bet you didn’t expect this, did you, you _twat?”_ The smoke swallowed them, and for a moment only their smile remained, fangs glinting. Meanwhile, there was another explosion, and the King snarled as he looked to the phoenix and its friend.

“You may win this fight, but you _will_ lose the battle. The Keys will be _mine_ , do you understand?” Turning on his heel, the King turned and marched into the trees. A draconic shock echoed around them, and the phoenix and its ally landed in the ash-strewn dust as the rain returned.

Pulling his hood and mask back, the winged ranger gazed after them. Rain dripped through his short brown hair, ran along the dark blue scales littered like freckles beneath his eyes. Turning to the phoenix with a wry smile, he mused, “Well, _someone’s_ moody.” There was a small snort from the phoenix and it ruffled its wings. “Hey, where did Smokey go? I wanted to say hi.”

**_Unimportant. I will take care of it._** The ranger dipped his head, and the phoenix looked to him. **_I want you to go to follow a particular group. They’re from the White Lion Tavern, and they’re heading along the trade routes to Silver Heights. I suggest moving fast._**

“Of course.” Bowing, the young man turned. He was perhaps in his twenties, but he looked much older somehow. He glanced back after a moment, blinking a few times. “Any important appearances? Descriptors, races—”

**_There is a Cryor, a Visho, and several Cy’Ratha with them. Though not all of them may know it._** The ranger nodded, spread his wings. Water dripped off the membrane, and the phoenix cleared its throat. **_There is someone you may recognise. Yellow scales._** His eyes brightened and he grinned, and the phoenix shook its head. **_Try not to scare them or be seen. They’ll be watching. Oh, and the group name—_**

“I know it.” Running forwards, he shouted, “I’ll go find your Hermits, don’t you worry!” He flew away, and the phoenix watched him. Golden light swirled around it, and the rain pattered down around through the golden mist that formed. When the thin, sparkling clouds rolled away, a reddish-brown wolf with a white leg and chest stood in its place. Brown eyes watched the ranger disappear into the lightning-wreathed clouds.

Then, it turned and went to go find the captive, purple sparks glinting off of its pelt like wet flint as it vanished into another vortex.

+++

_The Hermits~_

Doc stared at him. “I am so confused. Why did you owe this dude a favour? How does that relate to us taking all of this,” he gestured to the cargo, “Into Silver Heights?”

Scar chuckled weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…I’m not really ready to share _that_ story. Not yet.” Looking ahead as they travelled along the mountain paths, he mused, “It’s not safe.”

“ _None of this is safe, you two-bit wizard.”_ Doc hissed. Scar snapped his head around to look at him. Immediately, the Cryor yanked on his horse’s reins, and the gelding neighed indignantly as it halted. There was a flinty, dangerous look to Scar’s gaze, and his eyes narrowed for a moment. A splash of two different glows—orange and purple—flashed through each of his eyes. Then, he took a calming breath and smiled coolly at Doc.

“I assure you, I am no ‘two-bit’ wizard, Doc. However, I know what I’m doing, and what I’m doing is not only on a need-to-know basis, it’s also a private matter between me and Judah Byron of Pike’s Point, Dallara. You really don’t want to anger one of the biggest trade partners in the west, do you? I’m pretty sure we’d have Glaedirian mercenaries on our backs within minutes.”

Iskall grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck at that.

Impulse glanced at him, but the assassin gave nothing else away. Actually, he was looking away from everyone, studying the terrain of the steep mountain slopes around them. If Impulse glanced over the side of the ridge, he could see where the cliff dropped away to the dark green forests below. The warmth of spring was upon them…but unfortunately, so was some of the wind. It howled in between the rocky crags that spiked high into the clouds above their heads, darted into hidden canyons he could _just_ hear somewhere off to their right. The new horses Scar had—six pack horses, then four cart horses (two per cart)—padded along like nothing was wrong. One of the goats, a black one with a white mark on its forehead (Stress had named it Flower), bleated nervously in its wooden cage. There were three other goats—two brown ones and a black-speckled white one. Those ones were bigger and calmer. The chickens squawked nervously, battered their wings around. If Impulse had done his math right (and he had), he was pretty sure that the whole thing totalled out to somewhere around…fifty five hundred gold pieces or so. It was a lot of money, and if they managed to lose it…to lose _any_ of it…

Touching his neck, Impulse swallowed nervously and prayed to anyone, to anything, that might be listening that they _wouldn’t_ lose anything.

Beside him, Tango and Zedaph were riding along. Either they hadn’t realised the worth of what they had, or they just didn’t care. Tango was chatting amicably with Bdubs, who was keeping his horse about as close to the rock wall as possible. Considering how wide the path was—six horses could walk side by side with space in between them, and there would _still_ be room for more—he didn’t _really_ have to worry, but Impulse couldn’t blame him. Even though he could fly, he didn’t really feel like testing the drop (or the wind), either.

Not that he _could_ fly right now, but that was for another reason.

_“He’s a freak.”_ The woman’s words still echoed in his ears. Taking a breath, Impulse touched the sleek scales dusted beneath his eyes, then gripped the reins tighter. His wings ached on his back, they had been for days. His ribs and chest hurt, too. And his spine, his shoulders…his sides. _Maybe they’re too tight._ He mused, lifting up the edge of his shirt where no one could see it. There was a white flash and he quickly slammed the hem of his shirt back down, looking around for where the light came from. He sighed in relief when he realised it was just the reflection of False’s sword on her hip as she rode. So he went back to worrying about what might happen if they lost the carts, because of course he did.

Apparently, Xisuma had the same thought as Impulse did.

Riding their horse around, they wheeled the animal in front of Scar and stopped everyone. “Scar, we are travelling with _six thousand gold pieces’_ worth of trade and animals. _What_ are you thinking? You might get us all killed, and for what?” There was a firm tone to their voice. When Scar replied, however, it was nothing like what Impulse expected. He was thinking maybe Scar would make some joke about it, or maybe he’d laugh it off and try to dodge the question. But he didn’t. What he said, somehow, was even _more_ heart-clenching.

Holding Xisuma’s gaze, Scar replied carefully, “The only person who might be killed, Xisuma, is me. I know _exactly_ what I’m doing. You all just need to trust me.”

Holding his mare’s reins, he spurred it on ahead and kept riding, leaving everyone in a shocked silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think I beta read, you are sorely mistaken. I didn't even beta read my published books and trust me, I should have.  
> No, the King of Doves is not Dream that’s a different fanfic that’s coming up, okay? Additionally, the phoenix was using the Royal We to sound more threatening. (Also, I’m not trying to hide the blue-winged ranger’s identity, so if you think you know who it is, you’re probably right)  
> Just a side note, I love how y’all are just so okay with Tango showing up in a bloodied wedding dress with, like, no explanation. If someone draws fanart of that, or if anyone (I’ve already had one person ask, which was sweet of them) draw fanart from anything in this story, please link it to me I will love you forever. Like, just link it to goldstonewolf on tumblr. I will cry, I will comment something likely incomprehensible, and then I will probably reblog it and compliment every single tiny thing I can find because that’d be cool.   
> Also, I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this where it is in the chapter, but don’t bind with ACE bandages or unhealthily! Not only do you run the possibility of pneumonia, chest infection, damaged ribs/spine, and higher anxiety, you also can lose the chance to get top surgery in the future! And it’s not worth it anyways, take it from someone who did the oh-so-smart 34 binding hours over 48 days—it hurts, walking around and breathing is painful, and you will regret it. I’ve run miles in binders, I’ve done just about every stupid thing you could do with a binder (clasps, buying one from Amazon, wearing it too tightly, working out/being in a hot space), it’s really not worth it and it hurts. Okay, binder PSA over.   
> The chapters won’t normally be this short, but the arc is sort of a quick one meant to get them into the dwarven lands. If you remember, we’re going to be coming up on Hollenbráck soon, which means another one of our rotational characters is going to be introduced (and possibly that special ranger guest we met earlier in the chapter, but we’ll see when he pops up. He’s not the only surprise guest who’ll appear.)  
> Anyways, y'all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope you had a great weekend. I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one as well!


	13. X: Salt, Pepper, and Cloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more travelling along the trail to Silver Heights. Things get a little tense at some of the check-ins along the way, and it seems they’re not going to get away as easily as they’d hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know what I mean by the “no beta we die like I do on Minecraft easy mode; doing something stupid”, I’ve died no less than three times simply by falling on peaceful even though I knew there was too much fall damage and the last time it was because I was trying to place a bucket of water down to minimize fall damage. It did not work because the water was not placed.   
> Right at this moment, my mom is talking with her little students and I can’t help but laugh because this is one of the perfect reasons to *not* talk in class today haha.  
> Also, I am aware I'm getting slower with comments. This week was stressful as heck, so I'll be right on top of that once this is up!

Someone was watching them.

Xisuma could feel the chill on their shoulders every single time they saw the shadow pass over the mountain hills. When they turned to look, though, there wasn’t anything. And they knew that some of the others had seen them. Grian, Iskall, and Keralis. Taking a breath, they looked over the wagons. They had the animals in the back wagon, mostly because the bags in the front wagon were things they didn’t want the animals to eat. Salt, ginger, pepper, saffron, cinnamon, cloves, wheat, flour, and grain. And then they had the precious resources, which is what Xisuma was _really_ worried about. They could pay for losing the food. What they _couldn’t_ pay for was two hundred and forty pounds of iron, silver, copper, and gold.

As far as they could tell, their shadow wasn’t going to steal from them. If anything, this stranger only seemed interested in _stalking_ them, but not in the bad way. So…Xisuma guessed it wasn’t stalking, then. Tailing, maybe? Tracking? Whatever it was, the person didn’t get close enough for Xisuma to make out more than a shadow, and they would have sworn it was only coincidence if it weren’t for the fact they’d seen the same shadow again and again.

Speaking of the group’s shadow, Xisuma looked up as they saw it flit between the silver clouds splashed across the canvas of the sky. In the gap between a few clouds, they saw the outline of draconic wings on a smaller body. Other than that, though, they couldn’t make out many details. _Come on. We can’t have a single stroke of luck?_ They cursed inwardly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. _First we have the whole fiasco in Thylama. Then we had the chimera. Now we have this…_ shaking their head, they ran a hand over their helmet and adjusted some of the straps to secure it in place even more.

“Alright,” Scar wheeled his horse around and cleared his throat, raising his voice so everyone could here. “We’re going to be coming up on one of the trade checks. Just let me talk, and everything will be fine, I know how to work these.”

“How do you know this?” Etho asked. Scar glanced back with a smile, but Xisuma couldn’t help but notice the uneasy shine to his eyes. Almost like he was…nervous about something.

“Just trust me and let me talk, and nothing will happen.”

+++

As they pulled up to one of the trade checks, Tango found himself trying to hide his tail whether he realised it or not.

It wasn’t a conscious thing. He constantly moved his tail around, whether he was upset or happy or pretty much every and any emotion. It just happened, he didn’t worry about it. Most of the time, at least. But as they rode up, he found he wasn’t actually lashing his tail like he usually did, instead leaving it curled up beneath his bags. _Why am I doing that? I’m not ashamed of my tail. I wouldn’t be ashamed of my horns if I still had them._

Glancing over at Zedaph and Impulse, and then at the others, he realised he was hardly the only one moving around and adjusting their appearances. TFC and False _did_ something with how they looked, False turning her hair a jet black with a wave of her hand and TFC riding sidesaddle. His prosthetic leg had been replaced by one that looked eerily realistic, and Tango decided not to mention the fact both of them had pulled their hoods up and over their heads. Joe and Keralis had done the same. On the bright side, a small spattering of rain had started to sprinkle down around them, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have a reason to have their hoods up. Jevin glanced at the sky, the guards, and then positioned himself beside Doc. Ren and Cleo glanced at one another, and Etho and Stress spoke quietly with one another. Cub, Beef, Biffa, and xB were all talking from where they were at the carts. Bdubs was saying nothing, although he was pretty close to Tango and the others. Grian, Hypno, Mumbo, Iskall, and Wels were taking up the rear. Xisuma kept glancing at the sky every so often as they rode along beside Keralis. Whatever it was, and Tango had tried to spot it several times, he couldn’t quite see it.

“Halt.” One of the soldiers at the checkpoint announced, riding out on an armoured white horse. A snow-flecked golden mane rippled over the horse’s neck and the plates of pale gold armour. The rider was a dwarf with a short black beard and sharp grey eyes, wearing gold-plated armour as well. Sitting on his chestplate was the crest of what Tango recognised to be from the Vanderhault family. Biffa and Beef opened their mouths, about to speak in dwarvish.

Scar, however, jumped in. “Hello, sir. One of the checkpoints, I understand?” The dwarf nodded curtly, and Scar nodded, “Of course. How much is the toll price?”

“Twenty gold pieces.” Scar hardly even flinched, handed over the hefty price. The dwarf went around, started knocking on each of the sides of the wagon and looking over the bags. “What are you carrying?”

“In the second wagon, eight chickens and four goats. In the first, eighty pounds of iron, sixty pounds silver, sixty pounds copper, sixty pounds gold, a hundred and twenty pounds of grain, eighty pounds of wheat, and sixty pounds saffron,” the dwarf pulled out a checklist and read over the different ones. Clearly, he’d been told before that the group was coming through. Interestingly, he hardly even seemed to care what the members of the party looked like, paying more attention to the state of the pack and cart horses. “And eighty pounds of flour as well.”

“And the pack horses?”

“Thirty-six pounds salt, forty-eight pounds ginger, twelve pounds of cinnamon, twelve pounds pepper, twelve pounds cloves. The chickens are ten pounds each, and the goats are forty-five pounds.” The dwarf glanced at him, and Scar continued, “We’re with Judah Byron.” Huffing once, the dwarf began running a hand along each goat’s spine. While he wasn’t looking, Tango noticed that there was a significant amount of stress on Scar’s face. _He knows something. There’s something in there we’re not allowed to know about._

“You’d be Scar Goodwin, wouldn’t you?” Scar nodded. Tango swore he recognised the name from _somewhere_ , but he wasn’t sure what specifically. Glancing between his board and writing and then Scar, the dwarf shrugged. “Alright. You seem good to go, the next checkpoint is about twenty miles down the road.”

“Thank you.” Scar waved a hand to everyone, and they got going once again. A shadow passed over them all, and Tango’s eyes snapped up to the sky. Looking at where it came from, Tango felt his heart stutter when he saw something with dragon wings fly overhead. He glanced at Impulse, but the young man apparently hadn’t noticed at all. Neither had Zedaph. Neither had anyone else, except perhaps Xisuma.

_So that’s what they’ve been looking at,_ Tango dimly realised, watching as their flying watcher arced down beneath the trees and vanished. A sudden chill passed over him.

Shoving the thought deep down in his mind, he turned back to the road and kept riding.

+++

The night was almost peaceful.

Almost.

It was all nice and fine until something came barrelling out of the trees.

Grian had a brief moment to think _oh, no, this is seriously happening right now?_ And the answer was yes, it was seriously happening right then. Claws hooked in his chest, and he went flying back and smashed into a rock. His head snapped back and slammed into the rock, and everything went dark for a moment.

When he stirred, the battle was still going on. Cold, thin fingers cupped his face. With a groan, he opened his eyes and met Cleo’s pale gaze. “Cl-Cleo?” He wheezed, touching his ribs and grimacing. The druid glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to him and shoved something in his hands. Even though her mouth moved, he couldn’t hear anything above the painfully loud ringing in his ears. Groaning, he ran a hand up his face to his hair, felt something hot and sticky brush his fingertips. _What the—_ he drew his fingers back, stared at the red blood smeared over his hand. _Oh, that’s probably not good._

The ground shook beneath him, and arms wrapped around him and yanked him close. His head smacked against someone’s shoulder and he was pretty sure they muttered an apology. Grabbing onto their arms, he glanced up at them. “Oh, hey, Mumbo.” He paused, then added, “You’re a fast runner.” He was pretty sure Mumbo said something—there was fear written across the man’s face, and his mouth was downturned under his moustache. _Oh, he got that back over the winter. How didn’t I notice that?_ “I can’t hear you, my ears are too loud.”

They skidded to a stop and ducked into a cave, and for the first time Grian realised that they weren’t alone. Impulse was dangling between Zedaph and Tango, pain written on his face with every step. Even at a moment’s glance and even with whatever head wound he clearly had, Grian knew Impulse’s left leg should _not_ have been pointing that way. Bdubs had Hypno slung casually across his shoulders. As Mumbo carefully set Grian down against the wall of the cave they were in, glanced outside nervously. Outside, there was rain slamming down on the ground outside.

Slowly, the others appeared, and Grian’s ears stopped ringing. Cleo and Ren looked him over, and she called Doc over. “He hit his head pretty hard.” Cleo mused, and Doc nodded. Crouching down, he gently took Grian’s head in his hands, checked him over. There were dark circles underneath the cleric’s eyes.

“Hey, don’t…don’t hurt yourself.” Grian murmured to him, and Doc’s eyes flicked up to him. In the dark shadows of the cave, his red eye glowed brightly. “I know you want to help people, but you can’t help everyone if you take yourself out, too.”

“I know that, Grian.” Doc said. There wasn’t a sharp tone to it, however. It was much gentler, actually, than Grian expected. As Doc worked, Grian let him do whatever he needed. He sat back on his heels, sighed, and turned to Cleo and Ren. “Tell Mumbo and Iskall that they’ll have to watch over him, I know he’s hung out with them a bit. He has a concussion, not too bad but enough that we need to keep an eye on it so he doesn’t get worse.” He got up and stumbled over to Hypno and Jevin and Wels. Hypno was leaning over Jevin, who was lying on the ground and moving his legs every so often, bouncing his knee as a distraction. Meanwhile, Wels was pressing a hand to a dark stain on his stomach, head tilted back against the stone and eyes squeezed shut.

Mumbo and Iskall settled down on Grian’s sides, and he jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t heard either of them come up. “Sorry.” Mumbo apologised, and Grian shrugged. Looking at the others, he counted who was where. Xisuma and Scar were having a tense conversation across from them. From the set of both adventurers’ shoulders, and the way Xisuma was almost leaning over Scar, it had to be about the missing trade carts. Grian hadn’t seen them since he was thrown into the wall.

Cleo and Ren were now checking on Wels, Cleo pressing her hands to the stain on his stomach while Ren held his hand and spoke to the injured knight softly. Every so often, Wels would nod. The pained grimace on his face didn’t change, though. Bdubs was watching over Hypno, the monk’s head in his lap as he slept. Bdubs fingers ran through Hypno’s short hair, and he kept talking like he was trying to soothe the young man. There was a scar on Hypno’s throat, and Grian immediately looked away. Most of the time, Hypno didn’t show the scar, and Grian could relate to that. So he just wouldn’t look, he’d try and look at the others, make sure they were okay. Cub was sitting by Impulse and Zedaph, supporting Tango with a hand on the tiefling’s neck while Stress checked him over, Etho holding some medical supplies. From the quick, worried movements and the concern on all their faces, Tango had probably passed out. Zedaph was holding Impulse’s hand as Joe worked on the young man’s leg. Across the cave, TFC was bandaging a long slash on False’s arm. She was looking down at the injury, nose wrinkled like she was disappointed in herself. Beef, Biffa, xB, and Keralis were having a quiet conversation of their own.

“What happened? The last thing I remember is claws and being thrown into a rock.” Grian mused, taking a moment to debate whether or not he wanted to lay down. He decided that he did, so he shuffled around a little bit. Carefully, Mumbo helped him settle down, actually let Grian rest his head in his lap and ran his fingers through his hair. Both of them froze when his fingers met the bandages, and Mumbo yanked his hand away.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t even ask—”

“It’s okay. Feels nice, actually.” Grian mused, and Mumbo’s hand touched his head again before jolting away after a moment. Then his hand settled down again, and he started playing with Grian’s hair gently. It felt _really_ nice, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let someone play with his hair before he’d joined up with the Hermits. Well, actually, he could. He’d been sick, his mom was taking care of him and she’d spoken softly to him while carding her fingers through—

“Something attacked us.” Iskall murmured. Blinking past the heat in his eyes, Grian glanced at him. “We didn’t see too much, but it nearly tore us apart and then it started raining. There was…there was this _explosion_ , of all this blue light and fire and that distracted it long enough for everyone to get away. We lost the trade, though.”

Before Grian could react, could say _anything_ , could barely even _process the information_ , Scar shouted something in another language and then stormed out of the room. “Scar, wait!” Stress got up, started running, but Etho grabbed her arm and dragged her back. Where they still stood, Xisuma jerked their head away, probably glaring at the floor. Keralis strode over, started talking to them in a low voice.

Grian’s eyes darted to the onslaught of rain outside their hideout.

+++

Several hours later, something happened.

Thunder snapped the sky, and the lightning illuminated a shadow in the rain. Jolting upright, Zedaph stared at it, heart nearly pounding out of his chest. Glowing purple eyes stared in at them, narrowed slightly. “Uh—guys?” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. The creature unfolded its wings—they seemed almost birdlike. Other than the eyes, the shapes that blocked the rain, there was nothing he could make out about the creature. It was just… _there_ , somehow.

Everyone was looking at it. He knew because he heard swords being drawn, saw Iskall rise into a defensive position. The creature stared down at them, tilted its head to the side.

The lightning flashed again, and it was gone.

The next several hours passed in tense silence. Biffa and Beef took up guard duty, holding their weapons and staring out into the rain. They were the strongest, so they’d volunteered for the whole night despite protests. Some of the others slept. Tango drifted in and out of consciousness, the bandages across his chest (how had they missed him getting that slash it was _huge_ ) spotted with dried blood. Zedaph stroked his fingers through Tango’s curls, spoke softly when he woke until he was asleep once more. Beside him, Impulse’s head rested against his shoulder.

Long past midnight, the sound of horses’ hooves clopping on the stone alerted him that someone was coming back.

Scar limped in, Jellie scarfed around his shoulders and the reins of the pack and cart horses wrapped in his hands. “Scar!” Stress ran over with Etho and Cub on her heels. The latter two took the reins and the animals, led them over to the other riding horses. Meanwhile, Stress started checking over Scar. “Oh my gosh, you—I can’t believe you did that.”

“I had to.” Scar mumbled, and she helped him limp over to the wall of the cave. Sliding down, he pressed a hand to his ribs and shuddered. Stress touched his shoulder. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Scar?” She whispered, touching his shoulder. He looked to her and smiled softly. Sighing, she pulled back and nodded. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need some.” He nodded, and she left his side.

Zedaph continued to watch Scar for a few moments, and Impulse murmured something in his sleep. Fingers wrapping around his arm, Impulse pulled himself closer. Zedaph glanced down at him, and Impulse opened his eyes and smiled tiredly at him. “Hey, get some sleep.” Impulse mumbled, letting his head stay on Zedaph’s shoulder.

Closing his eyes, Zedaph let himself drift into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward ending because I can’t think of anything.   
>  I decided to be a little noodle and take pretty much all the milk and then Dad came and was making his cereal and yeah. All I could think of was the quote, “Honey, you should see me in a crown” from Sherlock. It was great. He didn't even think it was me, I think he blamed my brother. Hahahaha.  
> Anyways, this note comes from the seventeenth (right after the last chapter was posted) and you guys are so sweet. I dyed some of my hair red and it actually looks good. Like it seems a bit more dark magenta but I still like it.   
> Y'all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and I hope you have a lovely day! Thank you for reading! Hope to see you in the next one!


	14. XI: In the Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hermits finally make it to Silver Heights…and end up caught in the midst of a gang war? Also, what the heck has Scar had them transporting?  
> (Additionally, everyone’s sort of sleep-deprived and they act a bit like idiots in the local inn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters have been so short but honestly I’m not even mad about it. Like, yeah, it’s kind of frustrating, but I literally typed up the majority of this within a couple days of having a whole lot happen over the span of two hours. I listened to The Civil Wars’ “Devil’s Backbone” like sixteen times while writing the first scene for this. Also, no, there isn’t a continuity error. I specifically went back and checked the chapters I needed beforehand and I know exactly what I’m doing here.  
> Some minor clarification—much like Deltaran, Deltara, etc., Vanderhault and Silver Heights aren’t just one thing. It’s like how there’s a jack ton of different cities named “Paris”.

_“Scar, you don’t have to do this.”_

_Scar’s eyes flicked from Xisuma’s down to the sleek handgun in his grip. Taking a step forwards, eyes blazing with power, Scar flicked the safety off in a single movement. “Come on, Scar. Prove it.” One of the men across the room purred, sitting on the table. A cold light danced in his eyes, and Xisuma kept their eyes on Scar’s._

_“Scar. Please. You don’t need to do this.” Xisuma whispered, and Scar’s eyes narrowed._

_“Remove the helmet, Xisuma. Now.” Scar whispered, aiming for between Xisuma’s eyes. A moment passed. “Xisuma. Remove. The. Helmet.”_

_Hands shaking, Xisuma reached up and carefully undid the straps. Slowly, they pulled their helmet off, looking at the visor. The reflection showed their face, and they swallowed once. Heart pounding in their throat, they forced out, “Scar—”_

_“Set it on the table there.” Scar nodded with his head, and Xisuma obeyed. “Our deal is fulfilled. I did exactly what you wanted. Am I to trust that you’ve upheld your part of the deal?”_

_“Of course, Sir Goodwin.” The man sitting at the desk leaned forwards, smiled coldly. “I always uphold my deals. I trust you do as well.” Gesturing to Xisuma, he added, “Care to show your friend that?” Scar’s eyes narrowed, glittering orange, and he smiled coldly at Xisuma._

_The gunshot echoed through the dark tunnels beneath them, where a reddish-brown wolf with a white leg and chest stood, waiting and listening. There was a heavy thud, and the wolf flicked an ear. Above, the conversation continued on._

_Turning, the wolf padded into the shadows with a flick of its tail._

+++

_Earlier…_

Their horses’ hooves clicked on the cobblestone streets of Silver Heights, the wagon wheels rattling over the little gaps. The sound was reminiscent of war drums beating in tune to a soldiers’ march. Each

As they rode into the city, Xisuma let their eyes wander over everything around them. The mountain peaks arced high around them, the dwarven city clinging to the sheer cliffs and supported by massive wooden supports. At the edge of the valley, where the Highway stretched off into the distance, enormous stone statues gleamed in the sunlight. Each one was an ancient dwarven ruler, many holding stone versions of the weapons they wielded in real life. Most impressive was Monarch Moira Ironfist. Sitting in her statue’s hand was a longsword the size of a three-story building, the diamond blade sparkling in the bright sunlight streaming through the clouds. Springtime flowers and green grass washed the gaps between the houses. Large trees sprouted from the sidewalk every so often, branches arching up into the sky with the noble stance of kings and queens. Gold shimmered in the grooves of the trunks. Around them, houses built of dark brown stone loomed up. Iron pillars stood at the corners, Wrought iron fences decorated the balconies jutting out into the street, and the brisk wind threw embroidered curtains out of open windows like a running horse’s mane. Steel built the frames of the house, the dark stone sitting between them working as a sharp contrast of greys and browns. Meanwhile, may of the curtains were the deep scarlets of Vanderhault’s royal colours. Golden thread embroidered the edges, and Xisuma could see small patches of colours like stained glass windows at the lower sides. Each house’s roof was plated with gold leaf and shone in the sun, scalloped slates bolting with colour.

Taking a breath, Xisuma gripped the reins and followed after Keralis. The sun beat down on their back, white clouds drifting around the edges of the azure sky. All the others were scattered around them, and they arrived at one of the inns. “Scar,” Cub began, and the wizard turned to look at him. “What’s the plan here?”

Taking a breath, Scar glanced ahead and around. Xisuma followed his gaze, noticed people were watching them. Some leaned against the walls of the buildings, keeping an eye on them from the corner of their vision. Others were sat upon roofs, artificer-made wings dangling from their shoulders. “Pay no attention to them.” Scar determined, pulling something from his cloak. He held it out to a man standing by the entrance of the inn, who made a gesture to the people surrounding them. Some turned and walked away.

However, three remained. Xisuma held their gazes. One had the slight frame of a high elf. Small strands of brown hair stuck out from beneath a charcoal grey hood. Brown eyes glinted like copper coins in a deep cave, and they narrowed after a moment.

Another was stockier, clearly some part human. A mask hid their features, the slim brown surface painted with dark blue swirls. They unfurled a long tail, the dark blue scales glinting in the bright sunlight.

Beside them, Xisuma heard Impulse suck in a breath.

The final person was standing further away from the others, lingering on a gargoyle hanging over the street from what appeared to be a church of some sort. Xisuma couldn’t make out much about them, though. They wore assassin’s clothes, and there was a sword hanging from the scabbard at their hip. Other than that, there was nothing distinctive about their appearance—which was probably on purpose, Xisuma realised after a moment.

“Xisuma.” Blinking, they turned to look at Cub. The man was watching the roofs with narrowed blue eyes, but his hand was on their shoulder. “Let’s get inside. Alright?” Nodding, Xisuma glanced back at where the three had been watching them. However, they had vanished. Almost like they had never been there in the first place.

Shuddering, Xisuma walked into the inn.

+++

The tavern was warm, but the moment Iskall walked in a chill settled over his bones.

People turned to look at them when they settled down at one of the long tables. Keralis, TFC, and Bdubs went off to order food and organise rooms for everyone. Sure, they were a big group, but once they had settled down Iskall noticed that no one looked away like they normally did when they didn’t want to be seen. These people didn’t care.

Scar straightened up when he saw a blond human wave at him. “I’ll be right back, that’s the person we’re leaving the trade wagons with.” He said cheerfully, scarfing Jellie around his shoulders and then striding over. Iskall watched the whole conversation happen, noticed that the blond was battle-scarred. More so than Iskall would have expected. Even stranger, they were surrounded by hooded, masked figures who were _clearly_ trying to hide their identities and blend into the inn shadows. _Who is Scar trading with? What did he get us into?_ A gun passed from the blond’s hands to Scar’s, and Iskall watched him with narrowed eyes. _I need to keep an eye on—_

Xisuma distracted him by letting out a tired groan and smacking their face on the table as they gave up trying to be awake.

“Darn it, X, I told you to get some sleep.” Stress sighed, carefully manoeuvring them so that their head was resting on her shoulder. “At least they have that helmet of theirs.”

“Seriously.” Doc chuckled lightly, and Etho nodded. Stretching, Jevin winced as his spine let out a series of _pops_ and _crackles_. Everyone stared at him for a moment, and the half-Visho ducked his head.

“ _Dude…_ ” Zedaph whispered, and Impulse was looking at him with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Tango grinned.

“I can beat that out.” Straightening up (and ignoring Wels’ murmur of “Please don’t”), Tango twisted and grinned wickedly at everyone’s reaction.

“Are you a tiefling or a glowstick?” Stress asked in horror, and Tango cackled. The next few minutes passed with them just all being total idiots, if Iskall would admit. Mumbo was messing around with his little mechanical pseudodragon again, and it started hacking like it was about to cough up a hairball. When it landed in Hypno’s lap as the monk started dozing off on Cub’s shoulder, he jerked and nearly threw it into the ceiling. Cub managed to catch it, patted it on the head, and then bundled it back to Mumbo. The wood elf shifted so he was sort of curled in the seat, knees braced against the table’s edge, as he worked. Yawning, Hypno signed what they all recognised as ” _sorry_ ”, and then cuddled up to Cub (who clearly didn’t mind) again. Cub reached up and gently rubbed Hypno’s neck.

Tango popped some of the kinks from his tail, laughing and wincing. Zedaph worked on polishing his ocarina. They were hardly the loudest group—actually, a group of sixteen dwarves in the corner that _had_ ignored them were currently beating it out with their card game and cheating accusations. A young elf was playing the piano in the corner, working magic casually. Joe scribbled something out into a journal while Ren threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled Cleo close with his other arm. Biffa, Beef, and xB wandered off to the card game. From their reaction to xB, Iskall guessed that he was either very good at cards, they’d met him before, or his pirate past had given him a bit of a reputation. (He also wondered if xB had ever been a conscripted sailor. He’d heard some legends about a halfling hero). Wels pulled something from his bag and held it in his hands.

“Are those drugs, Wels?” Zedaph, ever the curious one, asked, and everyone glanced at the blond paladin after a moment. Chuckling, Wels rubbed the back of his neck with a gloved hand. His fingers shook a little bit, and Iskall glanced down at what was in his hand. It was a glass potion bottle. Inside, the potion itself was a shimmery, tawny-golden colour with a bit of pink to it. Showing it off, Wels smiled nervously. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s—I forgive you, thanks.” Wels popped the cork off the bottle and took a few drinks of it, then tucked the bottle back in after watching it. The bottle began to refill itself, and he smiled weakly. “Old injuries that didn’t heal properly. A hellbeast killed my patrol and nearly killed me.”

“How did you survive?” Zedaph asked, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “I am _so_ sorry, I’m asking all of the—”

“You’re my team, you should know.” Wels smiled reassuringly at the young man, who looked down. Xisuma had woken back up, watching everything with blurry eyes beneath the helmet. Or at least, Iskall _guessed_ that was probably how they looked. He’d never really seen them without the helmet. No one had, except maybe Keralis.

_Iskall, pay attention to Wels._ He scolded himself. Normally, he was better at paying attention to this kind of thing.

Stress leaned over the table and gently touched Wels’ hand. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Wels.” She reassured, and False and Cleo both nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“No, you deserve to know. There’s a bit more I might tell you later, just because…” Glancing around, Wels indicated their current state. “It’s not exactly _private_ here. Basically, I used to follow the—False, what Oath do you follow?”

“Devotion.” Wels glanced to Jevin, a question in his eyes.

“I followed Devotion as well. It’s mandatory for commanding officers in Glaedir.” Wels nodded, then paused to think.

“I used to be under the Oath of the Ancients. I was on a patrol with some fellow knights—not many I was close with, but we weren’t exactly enemies or rivals. Some sort of hellbeast came sprinting out of the woods, and I was the only one who made it. Well..” his eyes drifted to his bag where the potion was, “I _didn’t_ make it. Not really. I…somehow managed to make it out…make it back to the castle. I didn’t—couldn’t—take up my normal knight duties, and I couldn’t—” Laughing bitterly, he mused, “I wasn’t allowed to return to my Oath. Not like how I was. So I left.”

“What Oath do you follow now?” Stress asked. Shuffling through his bag again, Wels pulled out a symbol. It was a small, shield-shaped thing made of black obsidian, a small depiction of a hellhound made of carved ruby set into it. At the sight of it, both False and Jevin sucked in breaths.

“Vengeance.” False whispered. Nodding, Wels returned the symbol to his bag.

“What happens if someone tries to steal that?” Stress asked, frowning with worry. Wels opened up his bag and held out his hand. There was a slight hum, and the symbol snapped to his hand in a blur of black and red. “Oh. Okay, then.”

Scar walked back over.

“Xisuma,” the young sorcerer (were they really a sorcerer? Iskall wasn’t sure, he’d never seen someone with magic refuse to use their powers like Xisuma did. It was almost like…they were afraid of it) looked over at Scar. The wizard smiled reassuringly, but Iskall froze when he looked at his eyes. “Do you mind coming with me? I need someone to help me with the animals.”

Behind their helm, Xisuma must have smiled. Iskall could hear it in their voice—the relief that Scar didn’t blame them for…whatever they had gotten into an argument over in the cave. “Sure, Scar. I’ll help.” Scar clapped them on the shoulder, and they started walking away with the men. Iskall kept staring after them, shuddered when he saw the looks that Xisuma was getting from the other people. Something was wrong about it.

He wasn’t sure what.

Keralis returned a few moments later, smiling as he laughed at some joke Bdubs had said. When his eyes darted to the table, where everyone else was, the elf druid froze. Horror split his face and he glanced around. “Where’s Xisuma?” He asked, and the chatter around the table immediately quelled. After a moment, he repeated firmly, “ _Where is Xisuma?”_

“They went with Scar.” Keralis’ eyes widened and he cursed, looking to the door. Cub grabbed his arm, and Keralis jerked around to look at him with wide eyes.

Leaning in, Cub asked, “Keralis, what’s wrong? You need to tell us so we understand?” Keralis seemed to hesitate. “Keralis. If something’s wrong, then we need to know. We’ll help. Whatever it is.” The druid bit his lip, took a few breaths, and then leaned in and murmured something in Cub’s eyes. Immediately, the fighter’s eyes widened and his shoulders stiffened. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.

Cub started getting up, and the others rose. Some eyes were drawn to the massive party getting up, then drawn away. “Cub, what are we doing?” Grian asked, and Cub took a breath before motioning with his hand for them to head outside. Iskall grabbed his stuff, darted out where he had seen Scar, Xisuma, and the others go. They were at the end of the road already.

“X, wait!” He shouted. Xisuma turned to look at him, and one of the men clapped him on the shoulder. Swearing internally, Iskall ran for them. There was a sharp _thwip_ , and something struck him in the shoulder. He stumbled to the side, clapping a hand over the injury and then looking up. Xisuma had clearly realised something was wrong, but Scar was watching with an odd look to his eyes. Almost like… _he’s not in control._ “X, don’t go with them!” He screamed, struggling to his feet. Another bolt landed in his hip, sending him to the cobblestone streets. Hands pressed down on his side, holding him there and putting pressure on the wounds. Sucking in a breath, he looked at X. “Xisuma!” Xisuma made a move for them, and the man holding onto them seemed to realise that they were going to try to run.

Xisuma jolted all of a sudden, the man grabbed them, and the group vanished in a swirl of purple-grey smoke.

+++

Xisuma came to with a gasp.

Jolting upright, they looked around. Scar was sitting beside them in a chair. They were in a chair, too. “What the—Scar!” Looking down, they expected to find ropes binding them to the armrests and legs, but instead…there was nothing. “Scar, what the—what happened?”

Scar chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, Xisuma. We’re not allowed to know where these guys live, so they have to take some…drastic measures to move us from place to place.”

“Drastic measures?” Gaping underneath their helmet, Xisuma said, “They _shot_ Iskall! With crossbow bolts!”

“Your assassin friend has had _much_ worse, believe me.” A strange voice said, and Xisuma turned to see four men in front of them. One, a human, was sitting behind a sleek mahogany desk that took up most of the space in the room. The wagons were there as well, although Xisuma noticed that the one with the animals must have been cleaned out and washed, since the room didn’t currently smell like a barn in the worst ways. A high elf sat on the desk, one leg kicked over the other as they leaned back on their palms and smiled casually. Another human and a dwarf stood on either side of the desk, both in bodyguard armour. The high elf appeared to be an assassin of some sort, and they kicked their foot just a little bit to show how bored they were with the whole conversation. “Hello, Xisuma. I’ve heard quite a bit—”

“That’s not our conversation, Solace.” Scar snapped, and Xisuma glanced over. The wizard’s eyes had narrowed, and the defensive tone in his voice had been nothing short of a thick wall made of diamond and steel. No room for debate, no room for anything else. Solace smiled.

Xisuma took a moment to take in Solace and the others as Scar spoke with him. Solace was blond, battle-scarred. An ornate brown cloak lined with white ermine fur on the inside sat on his shoulder, clasped with a small gold chain in the front. His eyes had the sharp grey tones of forged swords, and his grin had the same cold look to it. Underneath the cloak, he had a leather doublet on and a white shirt beneath that. The high elf had long red hair that fell over their shoulders in a thick braid and bright green eyes. Either they stayed away from fights, or they were very good at ending them quickly. Finally, the two bodyguards looked pretty average. Both had brown hair and brown eyes, the same heavyset shoulders and iron plate armour. Both watched Xisuma suspiciously, as if they expected them to snap and kill them both at any moment.

Tuning back into the conversation, Xisuma glanced at Solace again. “So…you’re going to go through with our deal, I understand?” Solace asked, and Scar slowly stood up. All of a sudden, Xisuma felt compelled to do the same, though they weren’t sure why. For a moment, they wondered if they were going to have to fight, but that didn’t really make sense.

“Of course I am.” Scar mused, and Xisuma glanced at him and then froze. In his hand was a sleek gun, and Xisuma’s heart clenched in their chest. _Is he going to use that on someone?_ Glancing at the others, Xisuma paused when they heard the noise of a gun being loaded.

“Scar, I—” Turning, they froze when they came face to face with the barrel of the gun. It was so close they could see the flinty shine on the metal. “Scar?”

He kept holding their gaze, a sudden dullness to his eyes. This was a side of him they hadn’t seen before. Sure, the fight before had shown his angry side, but this…this was something Xisuma hadn’t expected. _Of course you didn’t. You don’t expect someone to point a gun at you, now do you?_ The voice in the back of their mind mused, and Xisuma took a shaky breath. “Everything’s going to be fine, Xisuma. Don’t worry about it.” Scar said confidently, fingers wrapped around the gun’s grip.

“Scar, you don’t have to do this.”

Scar’s eyes flicked from Xisuma’s down to the sleek handgun in his grip. Taking a step forwards, eyes blazing with power, Scar flicked the safety off in a single movement. “Come on, Scar. Prove it.” The elf across the room purred, still sitting on the table. A cold light danced in Solace’s eyes, and Xisuma kept their eyes on Scar’s.

“Scar. Please. You don’t need to do this.” Xisuma whispered, and Scar’s eyes narrowed.

“Remove the helmet, Xisuma. Now.” Scar whispered, aiming for between Xisuma’s eyes. A moment passed. “Xisuma. Remove. The. Helmet.”

Hands shaking, Xisuma reached up and carefully undid the straps. Slowly, they pulled their helmet off, looking at the visor. The reflection showed their face, and they swallowed once. Heart pounding in their throat, they forced out, “Scar—”

“Set it on the table there.” Scar nodded with his head, and Xisuma obeyed. “Our deal is fulfilled. I did exactly what you wanted. Am I to trust that you’ve upheld your part of the deal?”

“Of course, Sir Goodwin.” The man sitting at the desk leaned forwards, smiled coldly. “I _always_ uphold my deals. I trust you do as well.” Gesturing to Xisuma, he added, “Care to show your friend that?” Scar’s eyes narrowed, glittering orange, and he smiled coldly at Xisuma.

The gunshot echoed through the dark tunnels beneath them, where a reddish-brown wolf with a white leg and chest stood, waiting and listening. There was a heavy thud, and the wolf flicked an ear. Above, the conversation continued on.

Turning, the wolf padded into the shadows with a flick of its tail.

+++ (Random Scene I’m Tucking In Here LOL)

“Iskall, _stay still or I swear I am going to sit on you.”_

Iskall glanced at Grian, who simply narrowed his eyes at him and then moved. “Okay, okay. Yeesh, you’re all horrible.” Iskall snapped angrily, letting himself flop against the bed again. When his injuries collided with the sheets, he winced.

“Yeah, that’s what you deserve.” Doc said, rucking his shirt up. None of them cared about the myriad of scars ripping across Iskall’s skin, they just cared about the injury to his hip and shoulder.

“I’m not a child.” TFC snorted, and Iskall glared at them and crossed his arms.

Growling irritably, Doc grabbed his wrists and threw them over his head with a snap of “I’m working there, idiot!”

They all went quiet for a moment. “How’s Keralis doing?” Iskall finally asked.

“Worried.” Iskall looked out the window. The sun was starting to go down, and he swore he saw people standing on the roofs of the houses outside. When he blinked, though, they’d disappear. Doc finished working on his injuries.

Turning, Iskall rolled onto his side with his back facing everyone, closed his eyes, and pulled the blankets around himself like a grumpy child (even though he would adamantly declare he was _not_ in fact, a grumpy child. He was thirty-five, thank whoever asked very much.)

+++

Xisuma stared at the man lying on the ground, hardly able to believe their eyes.

Scar had just _shot_ someone. He’d _killed_ someone, and now he was going about business like nothing had even happened. _What. What the heck was that?_ Touching their chest, Xisuma sucked in a few more breaths. “You can put your helmet back on, Xisuma.” Scar murmured softly, touching their shoulder. They flinched away, glancing at the gun in his hand. A mix of guilt and concern and understanding crossed his face, and he handed the gun back over to Solace.

Shakily, Xisuma pulled their helmet on. Tears burned in their eyes. Meanwhile, Solace’s friends pulled the dead body of the brunet human out of the room. They returned after a moment, and Xisuma shakily sat back down in the chair. Gripping the armrest, they took a few unsteady breaths and closed their eyes.

They had almost died.

_They had almost died._

_**They had almost died, and Scar had almost been the one to kill them.**_

Xisuma was never going to leave Keralis’ side when they got back. Of course, they doubted he would even give them the chance to disappear like that again. “Take deep breaths, my friend.” Solace reassured. Opening their eyes, feeling wet tracks start running down their face, Xisuma looked to him. He smiled calmly. “I could _never_ kill someone like _you._ It’d be a crime. Well, more of a crime than those I’ve already committed.” Turning back to Scar, Solace asked, “How much gold do we need to pay you, my friend.”

“Seven thousand.” Xisuma jolted and looked over. Meanwhile, Scar tilted his head to the side, adding, “Or at least…it _would_ be seven thousand gold…if it weren’t for…” Smiling, he mused, “My _other_ little wildcard.”

Xisuma glanced between Scar and the strange people he was trading with. “The—your what? What are you talking about, Scar?” Scar turned to them, smiling coldly in a way Xisuma had never seen before.

“Asmian goats are unique in that they weigh less the better they eat, so these guys,” he gestured to their goats. “They only weigh about fifteen pounds. But that extra hundred and twenty?” He strode over to the wagon side, leaned against above one of the wheels, and then knocked his elbow against the wood calmly. There was a loud creak, and the side slammed down to reveal a hidden compartment. Sitting under there was a series of leatherbound books. “Now, _normally_ , books like these would sell for…” He studied his fingernails, blew on them, closed one eye and then looked up and smiled, “a hundred and fifty gold apiece. But since these are _illegal_ , we’re going to make that a little higher. I say seven thousand for everything else, and fifty-four thousand for the books. We have a deal?”

The dwarf bodyguard growled and slammed a hand on the wooden table. “Why, you little—”

Scar stared him down calmly, a dangerous light to the green of his eyes. Meanwhile, Solace belted out a laugh.

Shaking his head, he turned to the dwarf who’d gotten angry. “No, no.” Turning back to Scar and Xisuma, he said, “Oh, you’re the same Scar as always, m’boy! Pay him, pay him—they earned it!”

Xisuma looked to Scar, who simply smiled and met their gaze like nothing had happened.

+++

They weren’t dealing with Xisuma and Scar’s sudden disappearance.

They weren’t going to talk about it all, apparently. Xisuma had been kind of…shocked, actually, that they didn’t want to talk about it. They and Scar had gotten back, and Keralis had run up and hugged them, and then they had moved the money they had gotten from Solace into the inn room.

Speaking of the money, _that_ was what they were talking about.

They’d ordered food for the room, and were currently eating dinner where they were littered around the beds. (Xisuma was mildly disappointed with it. It was less a bacon sandwich and more of a _ham_ sandwich. It was the chunkiest bacon that they’d ever had, really. They wasn’t sure they hadn’t just sliced up smaller bits of ham and slapped them on the bread. They weren’t even sure it was safe to eat, but they were doing it anyways.) They’d squished themselves into the room, all twenty-five of them. Impulse had made an attempt to lighten the mood by musing it reminded him of some of the homes he used to stay in over the winter when he was younger. No one really knew what to say about that. To be fair, it really wasn’t the time. (Xisuma appreciated the attempt, though.)

“So…where did you get all of this gold?”

Tango glanced up from the bag of coins in his hands, and Impulse stared over his shoulder at the lip of the bag. His eyes widened even at the amount there, and Xisuma knew it wasn’t even a _fraction_ of the amount of money that Scar had gotten from the men he’d traded with. Glancing up, Impulse stared at Scar.

“How do— _how?”_ He whispered with wide eyes. Tango and Zedaph glanced at him, frowning slightly, and he kept glancing down with wide eyes at the bag of gold coins in his hand. “How do you even have all this money? This came from the wagon?”

“Yeah.” Scar smiled, then pulled out his Bag of Holding…and started producing more bags. X watched as Impulse’s eyes widened more and more with each bag, and his jaw actually dropped. Like, full on, some little bug could fly in and land on his teeth and he might not even notice. When he had finished, Scar gestured at it all and said, “That is what sixty-three thousand gold pieces looks like. We all made two thousand four hundred and forty pieces and all we did was travel for a couple days.”

Impulse blinked a few times. “Hold on, what?”

Shrugging, Scar mused, “I’ve been keeping tabs on the group’s finances, you guys did know you were getting paid at least two hundred and eighteen gold, right?” He started moving some of the bags over to the others, and Impulse didn’t seem capable of believing what was in front of him as he took the bag with shaking hands. Meanwhile, False and Iskall, as well as some of the other hermits who had grown up with as much money as they could have ever wanted, had much more mild reactions. Yes, it was a lot of money, but they had seen it before and they would see it again. Meanwhile, Xisuma dimly realised that it was probably more money than Impulse had ever had in his entire life.

Swallowing, Impulse whispered, “Thank you.” As Scar moved by again. The wizard turned to him and frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side.

“You’re getting paid, Impulse. You did a job, why wouldn’t I pay you?” Impulse seemed in a bit more shock if anything else, though, blinking a few times and taking a short breath. Beside him, Zedaph and Etho and even Tango seemed in much the same state, with that amount of money. Xisuma swore they saw Tango subtly count a couple of the coins before correcting himself. _Like he has reason to think someone would have stolen that from him,_ Xisuma blinked a few times, studied Impulse and the others.

Later, Xisuma noticed Scar walk out onto the inn’s room balcony.

Taking a breath, they prepared themself for whatever the conversation might bring…and then they walked outside. It was a peaceful night. The stars were out, there wasn’t much light pollution so they twinkled like little diamonds set in a deep blue dress made of velvet. Some of the streetlights were on, small flickers of bright orange flame against the purple shades of dusk and nighttime. They slid their hand along the rough, gnarled wood of the balcony railing. In the distance, the moon was just rising over the crests of the mountain peaks and the statues, and Xisuma took a deep breath. They almost wanted to take their helmet off.

Almost.

“Scar…” Scar looked at them as they leaned on the balcony railing. Blinking, Xisuma looked down to the town square beneath them. “Who was the man you shot?”

Scar laughed softly. “His name was Kazan, as far as I know. I never knew his last name, but when I was an alchemist, he studied with me. We didn’t really like each other, he was part of the people who were around when I left.” There was an odd, stilted tone to his voice. Like he wasn’t saying something that he probably should have, holding something back. _Let’s hope it’s not something that’ll bite us in the back later._ Xisuma mused, rubbing the back of their neck. At this point, they didn’t want to know either. “I never would have shot you, and I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“I forgive you.” Xisuma replied after a moment, and Scar visibly relaxed. Taking a breath, he looked out into the distance. “What’s on your mind, Scar?”

Scar’s eyes travelled to the mountain road ahead, where the highway stretched off into the darkness. “We’re going to Hullenbráck, Xisuma.” A certain ferocity lit his gaze, and Xisuma looked out into the night. In the distance, they swore they saw something standing on the mountains, and a pair of wings shuddered once in the moonlight. Scales glinted, then faded into the shadows. “We’re going to meet up with the next party member, and if I remember right…well, there’s a legend about those mountains.”

“The mountains?” Scar turned to look at them, and Xisuma blinked a few times. “Scar, what do you mean? What’s with all the riddles?”

“The Storm’s Claws are said to be the gateway to the Void—where the Athava are said to live.” He shrugged his cloak around his shoulders, looked ahead, and then turned to stride back into the inn. “I hope it’s just a legend, but…now I’m not so sure.”

He disappeared into the inn, and Xisuma studied the mountains once more with a sinking feeling in their heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try and do something special for Thanksgiving for this fic. You’ll find out tomorrow if it worked. If not…well, I guess it doesn’t matter, then, eh? (Although there might be some small gaps, sorry. That comes from work, finishing up my stupid fucking history class, and some other stuff going on in the non-Internet world).   
> I told you guys to watch for Hermits you really shouldn’t underestimate and Scar is one of them. Hullenbráck and Hullenbróck are also different spellings for the same city because I’m too lazy to go back and correct it and I read it as Hullenbráck one time and misspelled it. My fingertips are currently dyed pink from dyeing my hair, I have an orange beanie on, and I want a girlfriend, so that’s definitely some obscure mood and if any of you can relate then yay I’m not alone but also who hurt you. (Also, the chunky bacon sandwich is a criticism of my own cooking skills, I’m looking at the chunky bacon sandwich in real life as I write this note. It looks gross but whatever I’m not wasting food. Update from later: I stuck it back in the microwave and it looks better now, don’t eat raw pork it can be really bad for you.) This also wasn’t meant to be a near-normal length chapter but eh whatever it turned out like that.   
> Additionally, if your art is on Instagram and you’re like “why hasn’t gold seen this?” but you’ve seen someone called “jasperhunterhowlterofficial” has liked the fanart, that’s me. My parents have a bit of a hegemony on what social media I can/can’t use and I came out on Instagram once so…yeah. Also check out the Tango wedding dress art I saw one by Anonymous Lobster in the comments and it’s fricking gorgeous I love it!  
> (Remember those three I mentioned earlier. They’re important, though it might take you a little while to figure out who each of them. Call it a bit of a teaser cameo)  
> Anyways, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one. If you're not subscribed...I suggest you start now. Trust me, if what I have planned works out...it'll be interesting to say the least. Anyways, y'all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	15. XII: Calculated Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Interlude. This time, however, it doesn’t focus on the Hermits…sort of. Eh, you’ll get it in a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one seems quieter. There is a small explanation in the post-notes, and you may have noticed a particular chapter popping up in the chapter index. Don’t go back to look for it, it’s not uploaded. It was a little exhausting to write though.  
> There are several nightmares and some of this stuff might seem repetitive (we have three dream sequences but I’m going to try and mix them up properly. Also, when the camp has a little “visitor”, nothing he’s doing is meant to be creepy. He has a reason for doing everything he does and his job is to watch over them so he’s doing his job). All dreams are italicised out of preference for myself.  
> Also, some notes about the past couple of chapters you may have missed: Scar handles the group’s finances. He also has connections higher up, and knows how to strike a deal. With seven thousand gold, everyone would be making 218 gold plus some change. However, with sixty-three thousand, they’re making 2440. He didn’t risk anyone’s neck but his own—the reason he was so tense is because they’re travelling with illegal goods. If they’d been caught, he’d have been killed. Those books are *super* illegal, there’s a reason Solace was so willing to have him kill someone to prove he was trustworthy. And that’s all the implications I’m willing to share for now.  
> I think I scared my Drama teacher because I explained how bad Sunday was and she was like “do you want more time” and I was like “no I’m fine”.  
> Oh, and just a note—some of these might be from the future. Call it a bit of a…precognitive chapter.

She stood in between her children and the man towering over her, wings unfurled to their full length.

Both of them clung to her legs, wide eyes staring up at the man as he held a massive maul in one hand. The woman’s two sets of wings, soft grey striped with darker colours on the top and white underneath, fluttered ever so softly to block her children even more. Taking a breath, she narrowed her dark eyes at the man before her. “You’re not touching them.” She snarled, and he chuckled once.

“Who says?” He tilted his head to the side. “Some poor woman who can’t even afford to replace her clothes?” When he took another step towards her, she held her ground. The firm look on her face didn’t shift, didn’t change. If anything, it darkened significantly, like she expected a fight. Her wings moved slightly, as if she planned to grab the kids and fly off.

She didn’t need to, apparently.

The man took another step, and an arrow suddenly lodged itself in his shoulder. Roaring in pain and scaring the kids, he stumbled back and clapped a hand over the injury. “You little—who did that?” He roared, looking around at the assembled prisoners. Blood dripped from the injury, and the woman left her wings unfolded almost entirely. Around him, the other people shrank away, pressed themselves into the stone brick walls of the dungeon around them. “ _Who did that?”_

One of the woman’s daughters whimpered, shrank back. Her mother immediately reached back, never taking her eyes off the threat for a single second. Their hands met, fingers intertwined. The man turned to face her, shaking with anger, and stepped forwards. “I would stay back if I were you. I don’t want to hurt you.” She said, and he scoffed and shook her head. Drawing herself up, the woman squared her shoulders and took a breath. “This is your last warning.” Her voice hardened, reverberating with power. “Step. Back.”

Even as dirty as she was, skin stained with smoke and curled hair a tangled mess, she looked strong. Her clothes were ragged, burnt and threadbare in some areas. There was a burn on her arm. Her feathers, however, still retained their soft tones. Her daughters clung to her, and she stood with no weapons, no shoes, before the man in front of her. He simply scoffed, smacking the maul against the palm of his hand.

“No chance.” She looked him up and down. In the shadows, she could hear the thin creak of a bowstring being pulled back. Glancing back over her shoulder ever so slightly, she glanced at the shadows in the corner of her eye and shook her head ever so slightly. The message was clear, and the arrow was lowered. Turning back to the man, she raised her head.

“Don’t make me do this,” she encouraged, voice soft but strong. He stepped forwards, and she whispered something. A name, two simple parts to it. The moment she did, however, something seemed to shake across the room.

Staring at her, he stepped back. His eyes widened, and fear flashed across his face. She started walking forwards, wings unfurling to their full height. Light swelled from the feathers, across the sparkling, snowy white coverts and primaries. It filled the room with a sunny warmth, and she raised her head. “What the hell are you?” He asked, and she strode forwards until they were face to face.

Leaning in, she spat, “I’m a Cy’Ratha.” Her eyes sharpened, the dark brown gaining the same tempered points as a steel sword. He glanced down when he saw her hand had latched around his wrist, and she held her wings around them both.

The man dropped to the ground, eyes wide and staring blankly at the ceiling.

Stepping back, the woman folded up her wings and crouched. Taking the keys, she pressed a hand to his body. Silver light danced across his form, and he faded into nothingness within moments. She unlocked the cell door and turned to them all. Two people strode out of the shadows—a masked assassin and what appeared to be a high elf with brown hair and matching eyes. “Good work. A little dramatic.” The masked one mused, tilting her head to the side. The Cy’Ratha woman ducked down and hugged her two daughters close as they hugged her. Straightening up, she touched the door with her fingertips. The metal immediately rusted, crumbled away.

Raising her voice, she said, “That was the only guard. They didn’t consider us to be dangerous. Siannodel, Pathfinder, I’m sure that…” She paused to consider the name, then said, “Voidwalker knows where you need to take us. Everyone, we’re heading with them. You can trust them, they were sent by the World Maker.”

The rest of the prisoners slowly got up, and Pathfinder led them all out. Siannodel, the Cy’Ratha woman, and her two daughters followed at the edges of the group. Siannodel scooped the elder daughter up, let her sit on his back as he walked. Meanwhile, the woman clutched her younger daughter closer, running a hand through the girl’s hair and smiling reassuringly after pressing a kiss to her other daughter’s temple. “That was incredibly brave of you. Did they know?”

Looking ahead, the woman mused, “Even I didn’t know.”

Siannodel blinked a few times. They both kept walking, leaving the prison and walking towards the sunrise. Some of the prisoners cheered loudly as the first beams of golden morning light danced on their skin. Looking back at the falling moon, she felt a sinking movement in her heart.

_I’ll see you soon, love. I promise._

_I swear I’ll find some way._

+++

“This is stupid.”

The masked man looked at their patient critically, arching an eyebrow. Scarves hid his appearance, goggles with red lenses masking his eyes. Meanwhile, nothing about their patient was covered, except for perhaps more…private areas. Except for their last layer of underclothes, they had been stripped almost naked so that their injuries could be treated properly.

Speaking of their injuries, they certainly weren’t lacking in them. Deep slashes oozed red blood and greenish pus where they tore across the ex-prisoner’s chest and shoulders. Whip lashes marked their spine and back. Their stomach had a few stab wounds. Bruises marked nearly every inch of skin, purple and black and blue. When the person touched a towel soaked in warm water to their ribs, they flinched away. Red eyes darted to his. “Quit it, that hurts!”

_“Would you prefer to do this yourself, child?”_ They sighed and looked away, acting rather like a child.

“I am several millennia old. I have seen empires rise and fall. I am no _child._ ” The words were grumbled, and their caretaker said nothing. “Shut up.”

_“I didn’t say anything.”_

“You were thinking it. You have a very loud mind, you know.”

_“It’s better than having nothing. Like that pathetic ruler of Glaedir.”_ Shaking his head, he mused softly, _“I both cannot wait for the moment that the Hermits give justice and cannot hope for nothing more than that moment to never happen. The cruelty of that man knows no bounds. Just like Sir ‘King of Doves’.”_ There was a certain sound to his voice, almost like some teenage girl telling her cheating ex to go screw himself.

Laughing and then wincing, the captive pressed a hand to their ribs and started swearing beneath their breath. He looked to them, and they smiled weakly. “Just a few cracked ribs, nothing more.”

_“You are just like your sibling. Both of you are idiots.”_ They shot him a look, frowning and almost pouting, and he chuckled lightly. _“Perhaps you are less of an idiot, though. At least you know what you’re doing.”_

“At least I didn’t manage to get myself _amnesia_ and go wandering around in the wilderness for several centuries.” With a scoff, they propped their chin up on one hand, elbow braced against their already-bandaged knee. Shadows dipped into the gaps of their collarbones and ribs, and their stomach growled. “When am I going to be able to eat? I’ve been sitting here since I woke up.”

_“You just got tortured. The cooks are working on making something for you that won’t damage your body.”_

“Too late for that.” There was a _smack_ on their thigh and they yelped, jolting upright. Looking down at their caretaker, they wrinkled their nose and tried to pull one of their legs up to get more comfortable. “Can you please just use your magic to stitch these up? I don’t feel like watching someone stab me in the skin with a needle again.” There was a soft sound.

Watching the invisible cooks fly around the kitchen, they kept their eyes firmly away from the medical kit, and from their caretaker. Their mind wandered to whatever their sibling was doing with those stupid friends of theirs. Really, they were going to get themselves killed one day.

That was why they, the smarter, younger twin, had long since given up on having something as ridiculous as _friends_.

+++

_Looking around at the flames, Wels stepped away from the circle around him._

No, no. This can’t be happening. Not again. Not again, please, please, no no _no no—_

**“Stop fearing me!”** _The voice bellowed, and he dodged back. Glancing around and clawing at his throat, chest fluttering with every hard-earned breath, he grabbed for his sword. There was nothing, he was dressed only in a light shirt and some brown trousers. No shoes, no sword, no armour. He was helpless, fully at the mercy of whatever this was._ **“You know what I am! We are no different! Stop being afraid! Pack is more important!”**

_“I am nothing like you!” Wels shouted, turning in a tight circle and sucking in a few more breaths. Legs shaking, he dropped to the ground and clutched the sides of his head, tears welling up in his eyes. They burned away as the heat increased, the inferno roaring to full life. Something massive emerged from the flames, and he looked up to see a massive creature stride through the flames. They licked around its charcoal toned pelt, the colour somewhere between burned firewood and black stone. As tongues of fire flickered over its pelt, they caught on flinty glints of red and orange and yellow, the same bright hue as smouldered embers. A pair of eyes, the same flaming blue as iceflame, burned in the shadowy shape of the hellhound’s angular face. A long, pointed muzzle like a wolf’s opened, revealing sharp white teeth as black lips peeled back._

**“You are me. I am you. We are one and the same.”** _The hellish beast panted, flanks heaving almost like he was chuckling. Wait, how did Wels know it was a he?_ **“You and I are one. Do not refuse to face that. This is not a matter as small as you or me, stop being selfish.”**

_“We are nothing alike!” Wels gasped out, crumpled to his knees and doubled over. The wolf roared. “Who are you?”_

**“I am you! I am Hels! We are Paladins of Vengeance, the Wolf of Ventus Arayan! Hellhound! We are of the World Maker’s Pack!”**

_“I’m not—my name isn’t Hels! It’s Wels!” He felt rather stupid for saying that. Hels strode forwards, hackles bristling and outlined like burnt trees sticking from a blackened hillside after a fire had raged across it. Backing away, Wels suddenly found he was glued to the ground. Like tar or melted sap had forced him to the earth. “I’m not you! I’ll never be you!” Shaking his head, Hels snarled again._

**“Stop acting like a cub.”** _Subzero-blue eyes narrowed, and Hels lifted his muzzle to toss his head at him._ **“You are lucky, you always have been. Why do you think that you survived the hellhound? You are stronger than anyone. Stronger than the rest of your Pack.”**

_“What do you mean by that?” Hels lunged, slammed powerful and massive paws into Wels’ shoulders and smashed him into the ground. Staring up at him with wide eyes, Wels felt his bones shifting in his body and screamed. Heat washed through his blood—no, his blood_ was _the heat, coursing through his veins and changing him. “No! No, stop! Stop it, I can’t—I can’t breathe!” He screamed again, and Hels roared louder than his cries. “Hels! Enough!”_

**“Fight back, little wolf! You are strong! Prove why the World Maker chose you! Prove who you are!”** _Hels snarled, and Wels opened his mouth to scream again as sparks of pain crashed over his head like an inferno roared through dry forests. Instead, the sound that tore its way from his throat was something…stronger. Deeper._

_Surging up, he went for Hels’ throat, fangs digging into the dark fur there. Hels slammed a paw into the side of his head, throwing him to the side. Snarling, Wels faced off with him. Throwing his head back, Hels laughed loudly. Blood dripped, glowing orange like magma, from the side of his throat. From where Wels had bit him._ Why did I do that? _Looking down at himself, he froze._

_Where once had been normal flesh and his clothes, there was a dark pelt._ What? _Sitting down on his haunches, he raised an arm—no, a foreleg—and looked at himself, blinking in confusion. **“Wha—”** Jerking his head upright, he stared at the flame-lit dirt in front of him. **“Is that**_ **my _voice?”_** _Pausing, he shook himself and looked over his body. Dark, steel grey fur—with a much cooler tone than Hels’—glinted with silvery white sparks in the bright amber of the light around him._

_Hels threw his head back into a howl, and Wels felt the start of one rattle in his chest._ **“Congratulations, cub. You seem to have done something correctly.”** _Turning, he began to stalk back through the flames. Turning, he added,_ **“Take care of the Pack, little one. I will see you once again. And I suggest not being so frightened when I do.”**

_The words didn’t process for a moment until the flames had swallowed Hels. **“Wait, the Pack? What Pack?”** Hels offered no answer, and Wels started bounding after him. Though he knew it was a dream, he still felt an odd wash of heat over his body as he was suddenly swallowed by a moonlit forest. Silver light streamed between the branches of the conifers around him and he chased after Hels, calling out for him with barks and howls. The earth was cool beneath his feet._

_He skidded to a stop when he came upon another creature._

_Moonlight glinted off of reddish-brown fur splashed with white, and he froze as his eyes met brown ones. In them, he saw a glint of his own—they had changed to a bright, flaming ruby red._ What? **_“Who are you?”_** _He asked, softly barking the words. The wolf turned, and then began padding into the shadows._

_The dream faded arou_ nd him, and Wels jolted awake in his tent at camp.

Immediately, he looked down at his arms, sucking in a few breaths. There was frost dancing along his skin, and his pillow was drenched in sweat. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he slowly rose to his feet and replaced his shirt, checked that he _was_ in fact wearing pants (someone had decided it would be funny to steal all of his from his saddlebags on a hot night, and he didn’t feel like reliving the experience of the entire group seeing him in his boxers and an oversized shirt as Cub and Beef found the perpetrator [it was Biffa and Tango] _again_ ). Padding out into the main area of the camp, he looked around. His breath fogged out in front of him, cool dirt and pine needles pressed against the soles of his feet. Rubbing his arms, Wels glanced around and then back at his tent. Immediately, he froze as his eyes landed on something.

Standing behind his tent, where there had once been a fully grown, completely healthy pine tree, was the gnarled, smoking, burnt out husk of the tree.

The twisted black branches clawed at the lavender-toned, grey-blue morning sky. Sucking in a breath, he stared up in horror, heart fluttering in his throat. None of the trees had been touched around it. Just the one, the one he’d tied his tent to.

In the distance, a wolf howled, but it didn’t quite sound right.

+++

The night after the werehellhound had a nightmare, Skizzle wandered into the camp to check on everyone.

They weren’t exactly the smartest. Lately, they’d been acting like they were invincible. Skizzle had had to half-sleep in the trees, shoot off skeletons and zombies and the occasional one of the Cryor’s less friendly cousins before they could get to the idiots. Of course he loved them, they were all his idiots and he was supposed to watch over them.

Speaking of the ones he was supposed to babysit, he was kind of shocked.

The whole group had fallen asleep out of their tents, lying in a big mass of people on an open field with their horses around them. It wasn’t too windy, or too cold, or too hot. Actually, it was the perfect night to fall asleep stargazing, which is exactly what they had done. But…not all of them were having the best sleep.

Slipping down from his perch softly, Skizzle unfolded his wings and landed with a soft _thump_. Now, if he’d been _trying_ to have them hear him, he would have a bit of fun. But…he was supposed to be stealthy, so he snuck into their camp softly. He walked past the zombie and her werewolf ranger friend, past the nymph-druid hybrid and _her_ werefox friend (there were a lot of weres in this group, he mused with a sly grin), and then strode over to the werehellhound where he was twitching and whimpering in his sleep. Bending down, Skizzle pulled a fire resistance potion from his pack and then poured a few drops onto the blond’s neck, smiling softly when the pain on his face diminished and he dropped back into deeper sleep. Sliding the potion alongside his other bottle, Skizzle carefully rose to his feet and stepped in an intricate dance over to the paladin-turned-Visho.

It wasn’t as simple to help the poor guy, Skizzle shook his head as he looked over the remaining potions that he had left. He was running out, soon he’d have to ration them and even then he’d be lucky to manage to find someone who could create something half as powerful. Reaching over, Skizzle gently rubbed the other man’s shoulders until his face slackened, the lines between his eyebrows softening just a little bit. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll make sure that we mark that down on the list.” Skizzle murmured, scribbling down the potion’s ingredients (of course he knew them, he had to) in a little notebook he returned to one of the pouches on his belt.

When he got to his feet, he noticed there was a distinct lack of golden-yellow scales in the clearing. Turning, he crossed his arms, carefully stepped around the sleeping Cy’Ratha and humans and elves ( _why were there so many of them couldn’t a group of like fifteen worked better than a group of nearly thirty?)_ , he crept over to the group the Hermits referred to as The Three Idiots. These ones, _these ones_ , he knew by name already. Of course he did, he wanted to make sure his boy was being treated nicely.

Impulse kicked Tango in his sleep as he rolled over. The tiefling’s nose wrinkled, and he retaliated with an elbow to Impulse’s ribs. Zedaph, who was squished between the two, muttered something crossly. _Of course they’re all tactile._ Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Skizzle grinned as he slipped some random pieces of candy into their pockets. Zedaph had been complaining of headaches and it was too bright for him, so some chocolate would help him out. And he’d noticed that Tango had been a little down lately—he’d probably been dreaming about his parents again, so of course Skizzle was going to help them out? Why wouldn’t he? Help another human being? Or…not human being, he supposed, but still! And maybe he was just giving Impulse candy because Impulse had been his bro and just because he’d had to leave wasn’t _his_ fault or his parents’ their town had just decided to be trash heaps for no reason so yeah Skizzle was giving Impulse candy because he deserved it. And if he stuck around for them to find it the next morning and share it with the rest of the group because he _had_ to leave enough he wasn’t _rude_ , well…that was his business.

Speaking of his business and his boy, Skizzle had noticed that Impulse was being more of an idiot in the _bad_ way than the affectionate Idiot way.

Carefully, Skizzle pulled the blankets away from Impulse’s body, winced sympathetically when he shivered but moved them over so it was more like Zedaph had managed to steal them (somehow, it wasn’t like the half-elf was squished between Impulse and Tango and literally couldn’t move more than breathing…oh wait, that was totally how it was). He rucked Impulse’s shirt up, tucked it under his arm so that he could get a better look at his side. Sighing, he shook his head. “Come on, Impy, you know so much better than this.” Pulling his tail into view, Skizzle took a breath and then tore one of his spines out. The silvery spike sat heavy in his hand, the electricity running through it rapidly fading, and he waited until the moonlight shone through the translucent surface to start slicing away at the tawny bandages. As soon as they were loose, he carefully slid them away from Impulse’s ribs and wings, arranged the extra pair of appendages so they were nice and flush against his back instead of awkwardly pinned there, and checked over his ribs. “Silly, silly Impy. What are we going to do about you?”

Touching his friend on the shoulder, Skizzle hesitated and then leaned in to kiss the side of his temple. Was it romantic? Heck no. Once on a dare they _had_ kissed one another (they were _twelve_ ) and then immediately both of them nearly threw up in their mouths. So…yeah, they were not romantically inclined towards one another. At all. Like…at all.

Standing up, he smiled at the look on Impulse’s face, turned and spread his wings, and then flew away.

+++

_Tango ran through the familiar streets, gravel crunching beneath his feet._

_Panting, he turned in a tight circle, looking for even a glimpse of strawberry blonde curls and that soft smile. He’d seen her he could have sworn he did. He had to. She wouldn’t leave him, not like she did last time. She hadn’t wanted to, never had. He knew that, he knew that one thing with all his heart and that was that she never would have left him unless she didn’t have a choice. And she didn’t. They hadn’t know she’d get sick. Hadn’t know that could have happened to her, she’d always been so healthy. Not like him, not like him, he was always getting sick he was always getting hurt and she was always there—_

_“Mom!” Looking around for her, he paused and thought for a moment._ Where would she be where would she be where could she—the house. _Turning, he started running again, aware of little rocks stabbing into the soles of his feet. He didn’t care, couldn’t bring himself to start. He had to find her._

_He had to go home._

_When he got to the path, he looked around and felt tears filling his eyes. It was just like it was before the day it happened, before she got sick. The flowers all bloomed under the windows, he remembered planting them there. The little stones of the path were right where they had left him, the remnants of when he’d spilled ink all over himself and terrified their neighbours because of_ course _he’d spilled_ red ink _on his clothes still there. Walking over them, he slid his fingers along the wooden fence posts of their front yard, looked up at the cherry tree planted there. A soft wind danced in the soft, rosy pink blossoms, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he turned to look into the kitchen window, he couldn’t see any sign of life. “Mom?” His voice cracked on the name. He ignored it._

_Reaching for the door, he hesitated before trying to open it. The lock was undone, as it always was. They’d never had any reason to lock it, their little village had always seemed so peaceful. At least it had seemed peaceful until…shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped inside, sliding his hand along the walls and the wooden braces inside. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for whatever he might find. His grandparents (he shuddered at the mere thought, remembering the way his grandfather looked at him with so much_ _. Maybe some of the other members of the village, the ones who’d screamed insults and things he never imagined he’d hear from anyone at him that day._

_Or maybe he’d find nothing at all. Maybe there would be nothing. No one left for him, no one waiting. That was how it was in reality, but he prayed that maybe, just maybe, he could have this one thing. Just this one thing, and that was it. He wouldn’t ask for more, wouldn’t cry or whine or anything. Even if it never happened again, he just—he just wanted to see her one more time._

_Opening his eyes, he stepped into the kitchen._

_Soft sunlight filtered through the window, dusting the whole world in a soft pinkish gold light. Standing in front of the oven, the same soft pink dress wrapped around her figure and the same white apron at her waist (he used to let her wear it when he was insisting he was a good cook and the gods knew how_ awful _he was, he should never be allowed in a kitchen after managing to burn_ water of all things), _was_ her. _A sob built up in his chest, and she froze all of a second. Getting to her feet, she turned and faced him. A smile crossed her face, and he nearly started crying._

_“Oh, Tango.” She whispered, crossing the distance in only a few strides before wrapping her arms around him. Fingers carded up and into her hand, over where his horns once were. “My baby. I’m so sorry.”_

_Clutching her close, Tango smiled at her and whispered, “It’s alright. It wasn’t your fault, you couldn’t stop them.” Tightening his grip, he closed his eyes and started crying, shoulders shaking. “I missed you.”_

_“I missed you, too.” She rubbed his shoulders, then let her fingers go up to his face and then brush against his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t want to leave you. I’d never leave you.”_

_“I know, I know.” She paused and then looked into the hallway. Glancing away, he turned back to her. “What are you looking at?”_

_“Your dad’s here.” Blinking, he turned and jolted, looking at her with wide eyes._

_“What?”_

_“He didn’t want to leave, either.” There was a shift in the lighting, and the ground shook beneath him. Glancing out the window, he froze. “Tango. Don’t you want to meet him?”_

_“I—yes, of course I do, but I—I can’t—” Looking outside, he froze when he saw a flash of the chimera._ I thought we killed that! _“Mom, I need to go. There’s a monster outside. I need to go fight it.” He pulled away, towards the hallway and the front door. She held onto his hand for a moment, and he pulled away again. “Mom—”_

_“Tango, please.” Her eyes widened, but her face had distorted. Her eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were different. He couldn’t tell what had happened exactly, but they were_ wrong _. “Tango, don’t leave me. Please.”_

_“I’ll be right back. Please.” Turning, he headed for the door, tearing a part of his heart as he did. Part of him was begging to turn around, to run right back into her arms. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t just let the chimera ravage the town. Even with everything they had done to him, it was still his home._

_Walking into the street, he looked up and found…nothing._ What? _Whipping around, he found his home was just…_ gone. _Gone forever._ No. No, no, no please, not again. Not this again. _“Mom!” He raced for where his house had been, looked around to find himself in a burnt forest. “Mom!”_

_An arrow lanced through the back of his calf._

_Collapsing to his knees, he screamed and clawed at the injury, tail lashing. He turned to look over his shoulder with wide eyes. Someone stalked towards them, an enormous trident in their hand. “W-wait! Wait, stop, please!” Scrabbling backwards, he stared up at them with wide eyes. Impulse’s face came into view, eyes narrowed. “No, no, please—Impulse, stop!”_

_Impulse raised his arm, drove the trident deep into Tango’s chest, and Tan_ go lurched into consciousness.

Sucking in a breath, he looked around. Impulse was right behind him, sleeping much easier than Tango had been. Squished in between them was Zedaph, who was pouting and had crossed his arms. Tango stared up at the sky and then took a breath, closed his eyes against the stars.

Rolling over, he cuddled up to Zedaph and Impulse and tried to go back to sleep—it wasn’t like he hadn’t had nightmares before.

+++

He was lagging behind.

It was honestly kind of his fault. He was half-asleep, and he’d decided he needed to count out all his potions for some reason. The potions glinted in the sunlight.

Then, he felt the glass start to slip through his fingers. _Wait, that’s not right._ Reaching for the potions, he watched almost in slow motion as they dropped away. They shattered on a rocky crag jutting out over an abyss far below, and he stared at the potion bottles for a few moments. His heart ached for a moment.

No one else noticed. Since he supposed it didn’t really matter, he just grabbed the reins and kept riding. After all, it was just some potions. It wouldn’t hurt him if he lost a few of them…

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, there were going to be a few more scenes but I couldn’t drag it out of my well of inspiration. Sorry, I think I’m just a little burnt out with this chapter I pulled it out of blank pages over the course of two pretty stressful days. Yeah, I couldn’t help but keep Skizzle out of the story. Thought you might as well know who he is (dramatic irony is going to kick you in the back later, just a warning. But it’s going to be sweet when it happens). Have fun! Oh—  
> Small announcement here!  
> For anyone who has noticed by now (as it’s been up there for a while), this fic is now part of a series. In addition to the massive fics (yes, fics plural, I have three planned out. The acronyms are THatQftCC, THatCotV, and THatAK), there will probably be some origin stories for several characters. Additionally, this may have a future crossover with another Minecraft/D&D mashup of mine with the Dream SMP folks. Before you say “that’s a lot of fanfiction to have planned out!”, my actual professional job is writing books. Well, and school. That’s why if you follow me on tumblr, you’re following my everything account. I’m not trying to use the Hermits to boost my own fame, this is writing practice for me and what little pride I do have won’t let me beg on GoFundMe to save my life—quite literally, as I’m likely moving out at the end of this year. Quarantine helped me realise my environment is highly transphobic and homophobic, so if there’s any gaps between chapters or series, or I go offline for a while…I’m probably not going to have much when I move out. I wasn’t allowed to have a part time job until a few months ago, and I can’t drive, so…yeah. It’s going to be difficult, probably, but it’ll be safer in the long run. It’s kind of weird looking back because freshman me from three years ago excused horrible treatment because the people were nice to me when I played straight. It’s been…odd, to say the least, but I’ll be alright.  
> Anyways, this was not meant to turn into a rant. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for reading, I hope to see you in the next one. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing!


	16. XIII: Highway to Hullenbróck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group travels along the Highway to get to the city of Hullenbróck, where they will meet up with one of their missing members. On the way, of course, things will not be easy. Between painful transformations, some fights they really would rather not have, and some drama they really don’t need, there’s a lot. Like, maybe six or seven thousand words of content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs in tags. Also, hello! Hope you’ve been having a great time so far with the story, and if you haven’t…I hope you either enjoy it soon or that you find something else that does reach your standards.   
> For those of you who do enjoy the story, do you think I should start an AU specific tumblr for this? I have some drawings and stuff and I really want to include links and stuff to the art that you guys make.   
> Oh, and I know the long chapters are kind of annoying, it’s done that way because you don’t sit down for a D&D session for fifteen minutes, you’re generally there for a lot longer. It’s my version of a Critical Role episode, basically.   
> The folk song is based off of the YouTube video “Irish flight delayed so trad session started between DaoiríFarrel, Geoff Kinsella and Robbie Walsh.” By Daorí Farrel’s channel. Planned that scene from before the rest of this was fleshed out, you have that video to thank for this fic at all. 
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: There is a lot of fighting in this chapter, both within the group and with outside sources. There is also major character death (both temporary and in a vision). It’s violent, and there’s just…there’s a lot of stuff in here that could be triggering. There’s also going to be some incredibly tense interactions from this chapter to 19-XIX: Dragonborn, and possibly further. Please take heed of the warnings and take care of yourselves. 
> 
> Now, let’s begin with a bit of a cold open done wrong (sorry Jev).

The hermits woke up to screaming in the middle of the night.

“Hold on, hold on, it’s alright.” Jolting up, Xisuma looked around to find the person who was screaming. It was Jevin, Cub crouching over him and gently trying to reassure him. A few ragged cries escaped the young fighter, who curled around himself and clawed at his chest with his human hand. “Where are your potions? Your bag?” Jevin pressed himself into the dirt a little more, tears running down his face as he coughed and choked painfully. “Jevin, where are the potions?”

“G-gone.” Jevin forced out, sobbing once. Cub started rubbing his arm gently, while Stress started looking through his bag. “Had…had to ration them…ran out last night…” He curled around himself as another bolt of pain smashed through him and he whimpered once. Cupping Jevin’s neck with one hand, Cub started rubbing his shoulders even as Jevin cried out. “It’s not…this bad…normally…” Coughing, he seemed to shrink a little more and gagged once. Stress was working faster, had pulled out an empty potion bottle and was looking through her ingredients. Doc slipped over, crouched down by him.

Whatever Doc and Stress did next, Xisuma wasn’t sure. The next thing they knew, Jevin had slumped down, unconscious. His face slackened even as his chest kept fluttering with weak, pained breaths. Cub stroked a hand through Jevin’s hair, carefully cradled him closer. Continually, Cub had to hush him, even though it didn’t seem to do much. Xisuma watched Jevin sympathetically, noticed that the others were varying through shock and concern and worry. On Grian’s face, there was a bit of empathy, even. Xisuma decided to leave it alone—for now, at least. They had learned the hard way that some secrets could leave them…well, they knew that their life had been Scar’s hands when he took them to Solace, and they hadn’t even known it at the time. So they would ask later.

For now, their worry would have to be Jevin.

Turning to look at their friend, Xisuma swallowed nervously. Since he hadn’t jolted out of his sleep, and it was rather early in the morning and Keralis was giving Xisuma a look, they rolled over in their blankets and went back to sleep. It wasn’t restful by any means—one of their Hermits was hurt, of course it wouldn’t be _restful_ —but it was something. Thankfully, Jevin didn’t wake up screaming anymore.

Still, Xisuma had a feeling they weren’t the only one worried about the young man.

+++

“Jevin, you are _not_ going to be cooking for us. Do you understand?”

Jevin looked up at Cub like he was some kind of child being scolded by their dad for stealing from the pantry. Or maybe eating peanut butter from the jar behind the living room couch so that they could watch their siblings play some game. The fact he had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he looked sick didn’t help, even with the Visho slime now making up a little more than half his face. “Cub, it’s my job. I cook for the group.” Iskall winced when the young man’s voice hit his ears. Jevin did _not_ sound okay. _Well, I guess he was_ screaming _last night again,_ Iskall mused, digging through some of the supplies to find some of the tea they’d picked up in one of the outpost stops along the Highway. It had been two weeks since the first time Jevin had woken them up screaming, and nearly a month since they had started travelling the Highway. They’d been prevented from taking some of the faster routes because of one problem after another (Iskall swore the gods were out to get them), which had slowed them down significantly. On the bright side, though, he now had some tea to see if it’d help Jevin’s throat.

It wasn’t because he cared _too much_ about the other members of the group. Nope, not Iskall. He just didn’t want to deal with a sick Jevin, because _none_ of them knew how to deal with a Visho with a cold and a sore throat.

Stirring the flames, he started working and then glanced at Jevin. Saying he looked awful was an understatement. The Visho side of his face was…different, somehow, not quite as shiny. Under some circumstances, it could almost look like it was made of diamond, but then…it just looked like some blue rock they found pretty much anywhere. His blond hair was dishevelled, even more than it usually was. Some of the Visho part of him had started affecting the left side, it looked like the tips were dyed blond and the rest of his hair was blue.

Meanwhile, Cub crossed his arms. “Jevin, let me repeat myself. You are _not_ going to cook for the group. Not today, not for a while. You look sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“Jevin, I have four kids back home do you think I haven’t seen one of them try this?” Cub fired back. He wasn’t snapping, not quite. It was more of the sharp concern that came from seeing someone you cared about trying to do something that really could hurt them. “You were screaming last night again, you haven’t been sleeping well, and you look sick. It’s not safe for you, and it’s not safe for us. It’s not healthy, either.”

“I told you, I’m _fine_ , Cub. See?” Jevin stood up—and promptly fell over. Cub darted forwards and grabbed him, and Jevin touched his head woozily. As Iskall watched his face, he could hear the sheer resignment and exhaustion in the young man’s tone. “Okay, maybe I…maybe I need to sit down.”

“You _do_ need to sit down.” Cub helped him to sit down on the dirt. A few minutes passed where Cub sat by him, and Jevin seemed to have paled all over by several shades. “Hey, how do you feel?” Jevin didn’t reply, and Iskall checked in on the tea and then poured some into a small cup. Crossing the distance between them, he carefully handed Jevin a cup, jolting the young man out of his thoughts.

“Wh-what?” Jevin asked, looking to him. Cub and Iskall exchanged a glance, and then Cub turned to him.

Touching Jevin’s shoulder, Cub mused, “You’re really not doing alright, are you?” Jevin’s eyes darted to Iskall for a moment, and Iskall got to his feet and then stepped away to clean up the tea. Jevin started talking softly to Cub, and even though he couldn’t hear them, Iskall could tell whatever the conversation was had them both worried. Still, it wasn’t his business for the time being.

Going back to the tea, he poured himself a cup and moved it away for anyone else who wanted it. No sense scalding the other Hermits’ mouths if he didn’t have to. “Morning, Iskall.” False, who was always unnaturally well put-together in the mornings (even Iskall usually took a moment or two, but she always seemed right awake; maybe it was because elves didn’t really sleep? Or was that something else…), said as she walked up. Glancing at Jevin, who was leaning on Cub and still talking quietly, she smiled softly and then turned back to Iskall. “Is he doing better than last night?”

“He’s not screaming and not in as much pain. As far as I can tell.” Iskall studied Jevin for a few moments, looking for the usual signs. He knew some basic first aid. Obviously, it was nothing like what Jevin needed in the moment, since that was specialised and probably something that only a Visho could advise, but it was something.

The others emerged into the chilly morning with different reactions. Mumbo, TFC, Keralis, Joe, and Zedaph all seemed fully awake already. Impulse poked his head out of the tent, wrinkled his nose at how cold it was, and then disappeared back in. Apparently, Tango probably wasn’t awake yet. Cleo stumbled into the main camp looking undeniably zombie-like. For a moment, Iskall swore that she _was_ one. Ecept he knew that they had faced off with zombies before and they had all been pretty hostile. _Unless there are zombies that_ aren’t _hostile…_ shaking his head—it was _way_ too early for conspiracy theories—he went back to figuring out what to do for food.

Apparently, Ren had them covered.

He and Grian returned, looking like they’d been awake for several hours (in the good way, not the sleepless way that Bdubs did). A full-on deer was thrown over Ren’s shoulder as he strode into camp casually. (Sometimes, Iskall forgot how _tall_ Ren was. Sure, he was a few inches shorter than Cub, but Cub was taller than pretty much everyone. Ren was actually around Xisuma’s height, but less wiry and more powerful. “Morning, guys!” Grian said cheerfully. Immediately, Iskall got the sense something was up with the young man, but he wasn’t sure why. Blinking, he studied him for a few minutes and then realised it—Grian was holding himself differently from how he usually did. His shoulders had a particular set of tenseness to them, and he had a limp.

When Grian settled down between him and Mumbo, Ren setting off on preparing the deer for making breakfast, Iskall leaned in and whispered, “You alright, Grian?"

Turning to him with wide, grey-blue eyes, Grian smiled and tilted his head to the side. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, not quite, but it looked like it did for anyone from the outside. “What do you mean, Iskall?”

Iskall studied him for a moment again, debating whether this was really worth fighting over. In his peripheral, he saw Impulse and Tango emerge from their tent and start chatting with Zedaph, who was bright and peppy already. Doc ventured over to check in on Jevin. Biffa, Beef, and xB started packing up their tents for the day. Hypno and Etho were grooming their horses, Stress nearby and chatting with them just as brightly. If Iskall wasn’t mistaken, she seemed so much happier in the forest, and not just because she was a druid. Scar settled down with his cat by them.

It was worth bringing up. Even if Grian got mad at him, they needed to be capable of watching each other’s backs in a fight.

“Grian,” the young man’s eyes suddenly flickered with a mild amount of fear as Iskall leaned a little closer, dropping his voice. “Part of my entire job is reading people. You’re limping, you’re holding your shoulders differently, and that smile looked nothing like the legitimate ones I’ve seen you make when we ride together and someone tells a joke you find funny.” Grian’s expression faltered, the fear coming back. “Is everything okay? You know you can trust us.”

Grian paused, and Iskall knew then that he wasn’t trying to figure out how to talk, he was trying to figure out a believable lie. _Whatever this is, he doesn’t trust me yet. Not that much._ He mused, waiting. “Oh! Oh, that,” waving a hand flippantly, Grian smiled a lot larger than he had before (it looked legitimate, reached his eyes and scrunched them up a little, but it still didn’t _look_ right). “I didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. The limp is an old injury.”

Looking up and down, Iskall sighed. “Alright, Grian.” More worry flicked across Grian’s face, and he sat back immediately. _That_ set off Iskall’s suspicion even more, although he didn’t want to think about the implications of that movement. It was painfully obvious when he thought about it. Grian didn’t seem to like touch unless he was the one to initiate, didn’t like to be confronted or in fights with other people. Iskall had felt the way he’d practically pressed himself as far away from Scar and Xisuma when they’d had their argument in the cave. He’d spaced out when they’d gotten to Alvarin. If Iskall was remembering right…he’d remembered a few times when he’d been tasked with taking out a cruel noble or some other authority. The anxiety on his clients’ faces had been almost tangible, they kept glancing behind them like they expected to be hunted like some kind of animal or killed simply for contacting him. The same energy was radiating off of Grian in that moment.

_It’s not my place to ask about it. Especially not in front of everyone._

Ren kept cooking the meat, talking to Cleo and apologising to Stress when she came over. Blinking, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re part nymph, aren’t you?”

Stress spluttered, glancing at Etho. “Wh-you think I’m a _nymph?”_

“No, I _know_ you’re _part_ nymph.” Rolling his shoulders, Ren pointed at Cleo and added, “I can track werekind, undead, and nymphs. _She_ is, as far as we know, a nymph. _You_ have the same vibe.” She blinked at him a few times, and he sighed. “Honey, you have green freckles and pink eyes. Unless you’re hiding horns and a tail somewhere, you can’t be a tiefling. Elves are generally taller than you are, you definitely sleep because I’ve heard you snoring—don’t be embarrassed, you’re a lot quieter than Cleo.”

Cleo nodded sagely, musing, “I made him think a wyvern was stalking the camp the first time we were travelling together.”

Ren nodded, “She did,” then passed a serving of venison and an orange over to Jevin. The young man jumped. “Eat that, it’ll be good for you.” Sleepily, Jevin mumbled a thanks and then went back to eating. Ren looked to TFC and then stated, rather firmly, “we are not moving until he is well enough to move. These mountains can be hard enough to traverse healthy, someone who’s sick and exhausted is going to have a much harder time and I’d rather we waste a week than have to try and get him out of a crevasse after a rockslide. Or worse, bring a corpse with us.” TFC nodded, and Jevin jolted a little bit.

“I’m fine, we can go.” Ren, Cub, TFC, Bdubs, and Joe all shot him looks. Immediately, Jevin wilted a bit and shoved some orange in his mouth, mumbling, “I don’t want to be the reason everyone stays behind. I’ll be fine in a few days anyways, this doesn’t happen that often.”

“Three days for…whatever this is to pass, and then another four to make sure you’re up to travelling.” Ren decided, and TFC nodded. Jevin ducked his head a little, and Cub nudged him.

“You’re not being a hassle, you’d be insisting we stay and help if it was anyone else.” Jevin sighed, then went back to eating. Ren started passing out food for everyone else, and Iskall noticed that Jevin started dozing off about halfway through the meal. Eventually, Ren went over, scooped him up, and carried him back over to his tent.

When he came back, Iskall asked, “Ren, what did you _give_ him?”

“Two hundred and twenty-six miligrams of tryptophan.” Ren replied confidently, crossing his arms over his chest. “Three ounces of cooked deer tenderloin has eighty-one percent of what you need on a daily basis, so…he’s going to be out for a while. One of the best hunters in my old guild was Visho, and he taught me a bit about them. Like what foods work best for them nutritionally…and what can knock them out while doing that.” Smiling, he added, “he needed the rest.”

Turning, he walked off, and Iskall wasn’t even sure that was how venison _worked_ , but he wasn’t going to try and tell the _hunter_ that.

+++

Sure enough, a week later, they were back on the road again.

Jevin did look a _lot_ healthier. Also a lot more frustrated, since he _still_ wasn’t allowed to cook. Ren seemed to have taken over that job—although the hunter _did_ let Jevin do _some_ stuff, like stir every so often, when TFC and Cub weren’t looking. Since everyone seemed to be happy about it (except for the dad friends, when they found out), though, nothing really changed.

Impulse took a breath as he settled back in his horse’s saddle, looking at the road ahead. Joe was playing some song on the accordion that sounded the way that cinnamon churros on a fresh, sunny spring morning smelled. Warm and sweet and everything good in the world. Zedaph was in the middle of polishing his ocarina, and Joe glanced him up and down. “Hey, Zedaph,” the blond looked at Joe, “do you just know the ocarina?”

Zedaph looked down at the little instrument, concern crossing his face. “Why? Do you not like it?”

“No, but…” Joe rode closer, leaned over, and whispered something to Zedaph. The blond’s purple eyes lit up, and he looked at Joe.

“That’s freaking awesome! You can do that?” Joe nodded, and Zedaph tipped his head back for a second. “Uh…oh, I ca do the banjo!” Grinning, Joe touched the ocarina. Everyone whose attention had been caught by Zedaph’s (rather cute) declaration gaped at the sight of the ocarina _changing shape_ in front of them. Within a few moments, Zedaph had a banjo in his hands, and he quickly checked that it was tuned.

Turning in the saddle while his own accordion shifted into what looked a bit like a guitar but fatter at the bottom, Joe shouted, “Yo, Iskall! You still have the Bodhran?” Iskall rooted through his bag and pulled out the little frame drum. Impulse had seen a few, but never that close. “Nice. Need a cipín?” Iskall held up the little thing in his other hand and Joe grinned. “Nice!”

“Joe, what the heck.” Doc asked, and Joe grinned at him. “What even is that?”

“Bouzouki.” Quickly, Joe tuned it and started strumming a little bit. Zedaph grinned, exchanged a look with Iskall, and joined in. “Zedaph, mind leading us?”

“Yes!” The blond paused as if to think of a song, started plucking away on the banjo like some teenager trying out new skills for their friends. “Hey, anyone ever heard _Bluejay’s Paradise?”_

“That better not be a smut song!” Cub yelled back. Zedaph’s lightly tanned face flushed _immediately,_ and Joe and Iskall burst out laughing.

“Okay, _clearly_ Cub has no music taste.” Joe glanced around, “Hey, Grian, you know the song?”

“Of course I do, we sang it all the time in my hometown. It was—” Grian paused, then cut off and tipped his head to the side. “Really popular. Like, you couldn’t go ten paces without _someone_ singing or humming it.”

“Mind leading the clapping?” Grian nodded once, and Joe turned back to Zedaph. “Alright, Zed, take us away!” Zedaph started playing, grinning happily and belting out the first few lines in dwarvish. Biffa and Beef immediately joined in. To say Zedaph didn’t have any range was a lie, and Impulse couldn’t help but glance at Tango and laugh.

In the shadows beyond the trees, another young man with a pair of blue wings and a matching tail watched, chuckling softly to himself as the merry tunes of _Bluejay’s Paradise_ rang through the woods.

+++

Later, at dinner, Grian nearly fell of his horse while dismounting.

Scar grabbed him with both hands to help, one finding the back of Grian’s neck to support his head and the other landing instinctively on his wrist. None of them thought of it as odd, he was just helping. Grian, however, jerked away with wide eyes, spat some sort of insult at Scar, and then stormed off into the woods.

He returned later that night, safe, but none of them really knew how to broach the question when he decided he was going to sleep up in one of the trees.

+++

They woke up to screaming again, but this time it wasn’t Jevin.

It was _Grian_.

The young man’s sleeping bag had tipped and fallen, tangling him in it as he dangled upside-down from the tree branch. Something was sticking out, too dark to make out in the moonlight and flapping incessantly. “Grian?” Scar asked, getting up and making his way over. Iskall and Mumbo were on his heels, both prepared to fight if they had to or help where they needed to. “Grian!”

The young man jerked around again, and Scar winced. _He’s going to strangle himself if he’s not careful._ “I’ll climb. Iskall, Scar, be ready to catch him.” Mumbo decided, and they both nodded. In a few short seconds, the wood elf had scaled to the branch Grian had settled on and was busy cutting at the ropes binding the bed there.

Iskall and Scar, meanwhile, were close enough to hear the young man’s whimpers between the screaming.

“No—someone, please—” Chest fluttering, Grian cried out again. The thing flapped again, and Scar realised with a jolt that it was a _wing_. “Sam—Sam, _no—leave him alone—”_ _What is he dreaming about?_

Grian fell on top of Scar and Iskall.

At the impact, Scar felt soft feathers brush against his nose. Grian gasped, sucked in a loud breath and then woke up. “Grian, it’s okay—” Scar began, felt something slam into his chest. Pain lanced through his neck and shoulder as something—feathers, _Grian’s feathers—_ slashed a multitude of thin gashes along his body. Leaping up, Grian flapped his wing desperately, the sleeping bag still tangled around his legs and the rest of his body. “Grian, it’s okay!”

Iskall grabbed Grian’s wrist, and there was a slashing sound. The clouds parted and Grian sprang up into the air, wings fully free. Silver moonlight danced along the edges of his feathers, and Scar felt his breath stutter to a stop in his throat.

There was a sharp thwapping sound as Grian hit the ground—he moved so fast. Scar had a glimpse of Grian’s rapier flashing through the air, and then suddenly Iskall was pinned against the trunk of the tree with the blade at his throat. Iskall stared at the glinting metal, eyes wide. Meanwhile, Grian stood where he was, chest heaving and breathing fogging out in the chilly night air in front of him. When he spoke, his voice had a low, dangerous tone. Scar stepped back.

_“Don’t—touch—me.”_ Grian snarled, and Iskall stared at him for a moment. Then, Grian stepped back, put some distance between them, and then held out his hand. The scabbard of his rapier flew to his hand, and he sheathed the blade with a flourish. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow me.”

He turned and began to walk away. “Grian, wait—” Scar jumped forwards. Without thinking, he grabbed Grian’s arm.

The next thing he knew, he was on the ground and his face was on fire.

Clapping a hand over the injury, he stared up at Grian with tears burning in his eyes. Grian scoffed once, then turned and stalked into the shadows. “Grian! Grian— _damnit!”_ Iskall snarled, crouching down by Scar. Glaring after the Arcane Trickster, Iskall spat a few curses, then got up. “Grian! No—f-fine! Go run off, no wonder people don’t trust Cy’Ratha!”

Grian froze, and Scar saw him down. In the moonlight, his eyes were blazing. Not just with emotion, _actually_ blazing like embers. “I suggest you shut up before you say something you regret. You think I don’t know who you are?”

“Funny you think that you’re the only one.” Iskall replied, stepping towards him. On the dew-soaked grass, Scar slowly sat up with Mumbo’s help. “What? You think you know something all these people don’t?”

“You’re a murderer!”

“Yeah, I am!” Laughing, Iskall snapped, “I used to hunt people down for sport and money! Do you think I’m proud of that? At least I had someone call me out on it, and at least I didn’t just slash someone across the face because I was mad at them!”

“Guys, maybe now’s not the best time to fight—” Mumbo started. Behind them, the others were now fully awake. Stress dropped to her knees by Scar, gentle fingers checking the side of his face where Grian had burnt it. Meanwhile, Cub had already grabbed his sword.

“Cub—” Scar began nervously, and Cub shook his head and got between Iskall and Grian. Ducking under his arm, Iskall started yelling something in another language. Grian spat more insults right back at him, and Scar shuddered when he recognised a curse in Enchanted. Stress gently smoothed some burn salve on Scar’s face.

He missed the first time where Grian threw a punch.

Iskall ducked under Grian’s arm, grabbed his wrist and flipped him. “Iskall!” Stress gasped. Growling, Grian twisted around, managed to get Iskall’s legs swept out from beneath him and then pinned the assassin on the ground.

“You don’t know _anything_ about me!” Grian shouted, and Iskall let out a grunt of pain before kicking him in the stomach.

“Biffa, Beef, Ren, help me!” Cub shouted, and the others sprinted over to try and drag Iskall and Grian apart.

“Iskall! Grian! Stop it!” Mumbo shouted, while Cub grabbed Grian’s shoulders to try and pull him off of Iskall. The blond was now punching Iskall repeatedly.

“Grian! Gr-“ Grunting as he took an elbow to the stomach, Cub ordered, “Enough, both of you!” Scar slowly got to his feet, trying to get a better look at what was happening. There was blood on the grass, and Iskall managed to get a good punch to Grian’s jaw. “Iskall! Beef, Biffa, grab him!”

The two dwarves managed to grab Iskall by the arms and drag him back as Ren pinned Grian’s legs and Cub pulled the young man off the assassin. “Let me go!” Grian snarled, and Cub’s face was twisted in pain. From the way he was holding Grian, Scar had a feeling that he was probably burning himself. There was no explanation to _why_ Grian’s skin was as hot as scalding water. “Cub! Come on!”

Iskall spat out blood to the side, snarled something viciously at Grian. “ _Enough_!” Cub roared, and Iskall and Grian both froze. Etho cowered down where he was by Stress, almost like the word had been directed at him. Coughing, Iskall glared at Grian and wiped the blood coming from his lips with the back of his hand. “Both of you are acting immature and childish. _You_ are thirty-five, and _you_ are in your twenties. Both of you should know better.” Cub spat. Grian wriggled around, and Cub pressed a foot down on his back to keep him there as he sat up and levelled Iskall with a dark graze. “If you’re both going to act like children, then we’re going to treat you like it. From now on, until I can be sure the two of you will _behave_ like adults, _you_ ,” he pointed at Iskall, “will be riding with Beef, Biffa, xB, and Wels. One of them will need to be with you anytime you leave any of the inns _and_ anytime you go off on your own. And _you,_ Grian,” he looked down at the young man, who had finally stopped struggling, “are going to ride with me, Ren, Cleo, or Bdubs. The same rules apply. Neither of you are going to go _near_ one another unless it’s to apologise. Do you understand?” Neither of them replied, and Iskall took a deep breath.

“I understand.”

“Grian?”

“Fine.” Grian spat out, sounding much less controlled than Iskall had (although the bar there was kind of low, if Scar admitted it).

“And while I have you here, if Scar and Mumbo decide they don’t want to room with one or both of you, you will not blame them. At all. If you’re willing to punch your own teammate in the face because you’re mad at them, then you should not be on this journey at all and we can leave you at the next town so you can go home. I won’t force you to apologise, but there are consequences to your actions and you need to understand that. Stress, Doc, help them if you can.” He stepped off of Grian, gave a signal to Ren that they could let go of him. Laying on his side, Grian stubbornly stared off into the woods. Blood dripped from a cut above his hairline, and there were tears in his eyes.

Taking a shaky breath, Iskall shrugged Biffa and Beef off and stormed towards his own area of the tents, and Doc went after him. Stress checked in with Scar, then with Etho, and then she and the werefox went to check on Grian. Ren stayed beside them, probably to make sure that the young man didn’t lash out at any of them.

Scar still could barely believe what he was seeing.

Grian was _Cy’Ratha._ A species everyone thought had been wiped out by the Glaedirians and their anti-Cy’Ratha supporters not too long before. Sure, it wasn’t shocking that _one_ or _two_ may have survived, but… _the Cy’Ratha wings in Thylama._ Horror split his chest as he realised, _what if the little girl was_ his _sister?_

He didn’t have the time to think about it.

Suddenly, Impulse was yelling a warning. Whipping around and to his feet, Scar summoned Jellie and his staff and prepared for another fight. Instead, he got a glimpse of Impulse flying through the air. He slammed into a large boulder with a painful _crack_ that echoed through the night air, and Scar turned to look for their attackers.

A whip lashed out from the shadows and wrapped around Tango’s wrist, yanking him to the ground. He yelled in pain and dug his heels into the ground. “Impulse!” Zedaph shouted, fear in his voice. Something—no, _someone_ —dropped onto him from the trees above when he tried to race to his friend’s side. Rolling, Zedaph staggered to his feet and cried out when he received a powerful kick to the throat that threw him to the ground. Tango, meanwhile, was dragged forwards. Everyone turned to look at two shapes standing on one of the other boulders littered around the clearing, the ones they’d been using for windbreaks.

The owner of the whip looked at them, a certain light dancing in her eyes. They glowed a bright gold in the midnight. Beside her, her friend stepped forwards, shifting form. A massive hellhound stood in front of them, tipped its head back, and howled in the soul-rattling way only hellhounds could.

Smirking, the woman asked, “Who wants to die first?”

+++

Grian summoned his rapier, unfolded his wings, and attacked first.

Clearly, the woman wasn’t expecting that. Ripping the whip from Tango’s arm, not even caring that the tiefling screamed in pain, she sung it at him. Grian banked to the left. Shot forwards, rapier drawn. At the last moment, he kicked his legs forwards and slammed his boot into her face. Fangs dug into his shoulder and he whipped around, scoring a deep gash with the sharper primaries lining his wing edges.

_“Right parry! Duck! Use your blade!”_ The voice shouted in his head. It’d been years since the lessons but they remained all the same. Grian was no fool. The hellhound lunged, and he turned to look at Wels.

“Get him!” He shouted, and Wels seemed started for a second before nodding and charging forwards, blade in hand. Swinging, the paladin smashed the side of the blade into the hellhound’s head and then _snarled_ ferally. Flames licked along the hellhound’s form.

Other bandits had sprung from the trees and were taking on the others. It was a massive group, they outnumbered the Hermits three to one. At least…Grian thought they were bandits. Then he landed a kick on one of his new attacker’s ribs and realised that they weren’t just bandits, they were well-armoured bandits. With better tools than they had, better weapons and stronger armour. The whip lashed around his throat. The ground slammed against his cheek. Dewy grass tickling his nose, Grian swung his leg up and managed to kick the woman in the hip, felt it crack. _Human, she’s human._ A grin crossed his face when she grabbed his ankle, and he flipped the two of them. A knife was driven towards his face. Grabbing it, he punched her in the nose, ignoring the protesting of his ribs, and then jumped to his feet with her knife in one hand and his own rapier in the other. Wels and the hellhound had disappeared into the woods, but he could hear distant roaring.

“Stupid— _monster—_ ” The woman wheezed out, holding her ribs as she stumbled to her feet. “What are you waiting for? Get him!”

A foot slammed into the small of Grian’s back, and teeth bit into his already bloody shoulder. Dropping back off the boulder, Grian slammed them both into the grass and then rolled, stabbing the rapier into the gap between one man’s ribs. Someone’s back pressed to his and he turned to see Tango. The tiefling was smattered in blood, a mix of his own and others’. Both of his daggers were in his hands, he must have lost his rapier. When he grinned, his fangs were bloody.

Nodding once, Grian threw himself back into the fight.

One guy grabbed him by the back of his neck and dimly his mind darted to someone else doing that. A brunet with brown eyes, a thin gold circlet in his hair. _No. No, you are_ not doing this. Snarling, Grian drove the dagger he’d stolen deep into the man’s ribs, watched the light fade from his eyes with a grin on his face. “Big mistake.” He spat the words in a hiss. Stress screamed, Etho barked somewhere and then went flying in a flash of white fur before slamming into a tree and immediately going limp. Zedaph and Joe were fighting back to back, and something fell against Grian’s feet as he dropped his attacker’s corpse. His wings flapped against his back, aching for him to _use_ them, to start fighting.

Instead, his eyes fell on the thing glinting in the bloody grass.

His heart stuttered in his throat. Part of him didn’t want to believe it. Except he knew what he was looking at, he knew all to well. Turning, he screamed, “They’re from the King’s Spade!” One of the assassins, the woman with the whip, cackled and dropped onto his shoulders. He was thrown to the grass, head colliding painfully with the ground with a sudden _thud._ Wincing, he grabbed for his knives but she snatched his wrists, threw them above his head, and pinned them there. A sharp rock scraped across the back of his wrist. Sucking in a breath, he looked up at her.

She grinned wickedly, blood dripping down the side of her face from a vicious cut. “Yeah, we are. And the Golden Empire, and Grizzly Peak. You think you’re special?” Grabbing him by the hair, she smashed his head into the ground again. “You’re really not. Well, except for what you’re going to make us. The King of Doves is going to pay handsomely for you. Or…maybe King Samuel will. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you again, Grian.” A dangerous light danced in her eyes, and Grian’s breath left his chest.

There was a roar, and something big and grey tabby smashed into her. Jellie slammed her into the earth, Scar’s cat now the size of a lion, and snarled in her face. The woman shrieked, and Grian jumped to his feet ready to fight again. Scar’s eyes were glowing a bright orange, and he flicked his hands. Lightning split the sky, and Grian was thrown to the side. When he looked up, Jellie was standing above where the woman had been, electricity sparking in her fur. The woman was gone, a thin smattering of dust across the burnt and blackened dirt the only sign she’d existed at all. Panting, Grian pressed a hand to his ribs. Someone had stabbed him, his fingers were wet with his own blood.

“They’re other adventurers!” He shouted, and then looked around. None of them had anything they could do. Most of them were on the ground and fighting desperately. Impulse was still out cold, thrown against the ground. Tango turned to look at him, horror in his eyes. Behind him, one of the bandits lunged. “Tango, look out!”

Tango whipped around and gasped, and Grian sprinted forwards.

Someone slammed into him, and he was thrown to the ground again. Something was driven into his wing, and he screamed. Meanwhile, Tango cried out as well, grabbing weakly at the sword buried in his chest. Grian stared up in horror. Tango’s chest fluttered painfully, and he took a few shaky breaths as his knees threatened to give out. The bandit leaned closer, whispered in Tango’s ear as he twisted the sword. Gasping raggedly, Tango’s fingers slackened around the hilt of his daggers, and they dropped to the grass with soft _thuds._ “Give my regards to Ne’theria.”

Twisting the blade in a full circle, the bandit ripped it from Tango’s chest and shoved him to the earth.

“ _No!”_ Grian twisted, grabbed the person on top of him by the hair and slammed their head against the ground. There was a _loud_ crack. Grian didn’t even realise until he had attacked the other bandit that he had snapped the first one’s neck. That was why they’d gone limp. “Leave him alone!”

The bandit grabbed him by the hair and threw him away. Grian tried to get back to his feet, gasped as the blade was driven into his stomach, right above his hip. He was pinned to the dirt, no matter how he struggled. Staring up at the man, he sucked in another breath. Tango was lying on the ground, trying to drag himself over. Why, Grian didn’t know. The bandit (no, wait, they were bandits. They were other adventurers, which was a sickening thought) grinned wickedly and raised Tango’s rapier. “Hope that Sam doesn’t mind getting your head instead of the rest of you.”

An arrow pierced through the man’s throat, and he let out an odd choking sound.

A burst of bright blue shot through Grian’s vision and blocked everything out. When he managed to reach up and wipe some of the power away from his face, he saw someone else with wings—not Cy’Ratha, or at least not a feathered one—land on the man’s shoulders and throw him to the side. Blue dragon scales glinted in the moonlight, and a spiked tail flicked angrily. Shivering, Grian stared up at the person—a hunter, he realised with a bolt of shock. They let out a sound somewhere like a dragon’s roar, then glanced down at Grian and turned.

“Help him, I’ll get them!” He shouted, and something settled down by Grian’s side as the hunter disappeared. There was a critical tone to their movements as they wrested the sword from Grian’s body. If he wasn’t woozy from blood loss, he would have sworn that they were _mad_ at him.

Taking a breath, Grian felt his eyes roll back in his head as he went limp.

All of a su _dden, he was lying on his back on a sun-kissed hill. His legs dangled off of a cliff, two others sets brushing against his ankles every so often. Blinking open his eyes, he slowly got up and looked around. Beside him was a young man with brown hair and eyes, grinning brightly. The sunlight bounced off of a thin gold circlet sitting in his hair. Meanwhile, on Grian’s other side was another boy his age, with two-toned eyes—red and blue, they were red and blue that was the first thing Grian had noticed when he saw him. They matched his wings’ colours, red and blue and pretty and everything Grian wished his own drab, robin-brown ones were. Black hair glinted like raven feathers in the sunlight._

_“Grian! Come on, you silly daydreamer!” Taurtis said, wrapping his arms around Grian’s neck in a hug. “Why do you look so scared?”_

_Grian stared at him, blinked a few times, something felt wrong._

_Taurtis started shaking his shoulder, and Grian squeezed his eyes shut as pain blossomed through his whole body. “Grian.” That wasn’t Taurtis’ voice. No, wait, Taurtis was gone. Taurtis was gone he was dead he was dead he was dead Grian saw him die—“Grian, you need to wake up—” Whose voice was that he knew them he knew them he knew them he knew that voice he needed to wake up wake up wa_ ke up—

Grian gasped awake on the ground, Stress’ hand pressed against his cheek. Worry painted her eyes and there was blood and dirt splattered on her face. Behind her, Etho was in his werefox form, covered in bandages and holding one of the medical kits in his hands. As soon as Grian’s eyes opened, she sighed in relief. “Stress?” His voice sounded wrecked and horrible.

Slumping down, Stress started gently working on his injuries. “Oh, thank the Maker you’re alright.” She breathed, wrapping his wrist gently. When she reached for her wings, she paused and jolted away. “Are your wings hurt?”

“Nothing that won’t heal.” He replied, smiling at her. She returned it, clearly exhausted. “How are the others?”

“False, Bdubs, and Jevin are relatively unharmed. Wels is missing. Hypno’s wrist is broken. Everyone else is worse. Impulse still hasn’t moved, Doc is up and he probably shouldn’t be—” 

Grian got to his feet against Stress’ advice and started walking for Tango.

The tiefling was bloodied and shaking, pressed up against a wall. False was in front of him, holding out her hands. Panting, chest fluttering, Tango whimpered and moved away from False as she crept closer. Blood spattered his chest, it was literally foaming from the wound and dripping from his mouth, but he still didn’t want her to come any closer. “Stay—stay back—” He hissed, breath making a sound somewhere like a snake’s hiss. Pressing one of his hands to the wound, he took a breath and they all saw his eyes roll back as he went limp from blood loss.

“False!” TFC shouted, and she darted in and pressed her hand to Tango’s chest, where the injury was. There was a dim glow from the both of them, but it spluttered out and she looked back in a panic. Meanwhile, TFC was absorbed in working with some of the others.

_Why didn’t it work?_ Grian wondered, frowning in concern. After a moment, he realised that Tango must be _too_ hurt for False to help. _No, not someone else—_

Soft fur brushed by his shoulder and he turned to see a reddish-brown wolf with a white chest and hind leg stride by and settle down by Tango. Gently, the wolf reached out its head and began gently licking his temple. Tango’s eyes twitched, and the wolf lifted its head to meet False’s eyes, twitching its ears.

Reaching over, she gently pressed her hands down over the injury in Tango’s chest, and the wolf went back to licking his forehead. Someone else walked over, and Grian turned to see Xisuma standing there. Something was off about the way they moved, too robotic and controlled, like someone else was controlling them. They sank down in the grass, touched Tango’s arm. Behind the visor, Grian could see their eyes glowing a blank white. The wolf’s eyes did the same.

Under False’s hands, Tango sucked in a breath and then coughed.

The wolf got up and walked away, and Xisuma shook their head and then reached up. “Wh-what?” Meanwhile, Grian watched the wolf walk over to Impulse.

_Impulse._

Grian ran over and skidded in the dirt, ignoring the ache of his own injuries. Pressing a finger to Impulse’s neck, he searched for a pulse. “Impulse. Come on. Not you, you can’t—” The wolf nudged his hand away, and Grian watched for a few moments as its eyes glowed again. When it stepped back, he repeated the gesture. There, thrumming under his fingers, was something.

Impulse let out a few pained whimpers, fingers twitching. Grian crouched down beside him, ran a hand along his back. “Impulse?” Zedaph whispered, voice strained and tight. Meanwhile, Grian pulled Impulse’s shirt up and grimaced at what he found.

Bandages.

Impulse was binding his wings.

_Damn it, Impulse!_ Grabbing his knife, Grian cut the shirt and the bandages away, They’d replace it later. They couldn’t do the same with Impulse. “Idiot, don’t you know you shouldn’t bind your wings?” He hissed, unfolding the wings and wincing at the sight. They were broken, there was deep bruising along Impulse’s ribs so those were broken, too, and as he ran a hand along the young man’s back he had the chilling realisation that there _was_ an injury there. “Doc, I need you over here fast!”

The Cryor sprinted over, skidding in the leaf mould on his knees. “What happened?”

“Broken ribs, spine damage—from being thrown into that rock. I think the wing damage is a combination of those and the fact he’s been binding them for a while.” Grian explained, and Doc fanned his fingers out over Impulse’s back. Looking up, Grian searched for the wolf. He saw it vanish into the shadows of the trees.

_What was that?_

+++

Several mornings later, Bdubs found himself sitting on the grass of a clearing, long before sunrise.

The World Maker’s wolf emerged from the trees, padding over to sit in front of him. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Finally, Bdubs asked, “Why?” The wolf tilted its head to the side, dark brown eyes holding his own. It looked so natural, so normally doglike that for a moment Bdubs had to remind himself this was no normal wolf he was sitting in front of him. “Why would you just stand there? We were dying and you were doing nothing.”

The wolf blinked once, then slowly rose to its feet. Black lips peeled away from white fangs, and he heard the familiar voice in his head. **_Pack may have conflicts. It is natural for people of such diverse backgrounds to have arguments. However, you are meant to be heroes. Punching someone until you have nearly broken their jaw or their nose is no argument. Relationships are built on trust. Packs are built on trust._** The tone reminded him of how Keralis described Shadow’s communication. The dire wolf had disappeared somewhere over the winter, something perfectly normal for her, apparently. **_A physical altercation like that will tear the Pack apart. Thus, the enemy found you._**

“And you just let it happen.” The wolf dipped its head once, acknowledging it. “Why? Zedaph can’t talk right now. Tango and Impulse were both dead for several minutes. Wels is still missing somewhere in the woods—”

**_He will return. He always has. You are his Pack. If he does not come back on his own, then his guide will bring him._** Shrugging, the wolf added, **_or I will drag him back barking and howling by his scruff. It matters not to me._**

Bdubs looked the World Maker up and down for a moment. “It seems like a lot of things don’t matter to you.”

The wolf bristled upright, and Bdubs shifted back on instinct. Ears shoved forwards, lips peeled back and eyes widened into a snarl, the wolf spat, **_I allowed it to happen because it was necessary. If the Cy’Ratha and the assassin continue to conflict with one another, then we will all lose in the end. A Pack divided will starve in winter._** When he met the wolf’s gaze, he was thrown into another vision.

Lying in front of them on ashy grass were Grian and Iskall, both dead. Wels stood over them, eyes wide and panting. Dripping from his fingertips was blood, and Bdubs only had to glance once at the deep slashes across Grian’s throat and tearing down Iskall’s chest to his stomach to know what had happened. From the edge of the sticklike woods, Ren appeared with Cleo on his heels.

“Wels!” Wels whipped around to face Ren and Cleo, who stared at him with horror. “What did you do to them?”

Wels straightened up. The voice that came from his throat was not his own. “ ** _What I had to.”_** Glancing between the two, Bdubs sucked in a breath. Ren snarled, features contorting into that of a dark brown werewolf, and he charged. Getting to his feet, Bdubs ran in between the two of them as werewolf clashed with paladin.

Ren’s claws tore through Wels’ throat, and the paladin’s eyes dulled as Bdubs watched. The ground rattled beneath his feet, and shadows blacked out the sun. Turning, he saw the World Maker’s wolf standing in front of him again. Behind them, sitting on two mountains of platinum and gold coins, were two dragons that focused him with sharp gazes that shone like the rays of dawn. Dropping to his knees, Bdubs stared up at them. Neither was the lightning-spitter that had destroyed Thylama, but rather a gold dragon and a blue dragon. The blue dragon tipped its head back, lightning crackling from its jaws. The gold dragon shook its head slightly, then turned and padded into the darkness. The wolf sprinted at him, phased through his form, and suddenly he was back in the clearing.

Taking a breath, the wolf tipped its head back and howled a long, sonorous note. Then, it focused a dangerous glare on him. **_I may be on the side of the Hermits, but I am not and never will be safe for you. I see the way the stars will align, I see the shadows where they will form. I am the World Maker._**

Turning, the wolf vanished into the shadows, leaving Bdubs with more questions than answered ones and an aching heart.

+++

They met the dragonborn in the first inn they stopped in, almost like he had been told to meet them there.

Tango stared down into his cup, frowning. He couldn’t talk. According to Doc, his lung had collapsed when he’d been impaled (never mind the fact the rest of him had kind of died there for a good while, but none of them wanted to deal with that yet). At the bar, Wels was talking with Cub and Doc. Grian sat beside Cub, eating something. Tango wasn’t sure what.

In between him and Zedaph was Impulse. After the discovery he’d been binding his wings…well, the other hermits had not been happy. Stress had been making Impulse prove he wasn’t wearing any bandages every single day. He didn’t seem very happy about it. Of course, it wasn’t like they could just _let_ him. This was different from someone born in the wrong body trying to alleviate dysphoria. Grian had pointed out, rather sharply, that if Impulse kept binding his wings the way he did that he _would_ lose them, told him very firmly about seeing it happen to one of his friends. It had…not been a good story, to say the least.

So, when the red-scaled dragonborn strolled up and dropped into a bow, everyone was…kind of off-put. After all, it wasn’t just every day that a dragonborn in cleric’s robes and armour beneath that walked up and just… _bowed_. “Uh…hello?” Impulse mused, and the dragonborn finally straightened up—and then turned to look at TFC and False. Both of them exchanged nervous glances. “Your Highness, my Lord. It is strange to see you so far from the royal courts.” The nervousness changed to panic.

“Wh-what do you mean?” False suddenly stumbled, and the dragonborn tilted his head to the side. Suddenly, False glared at him. “Who are you?” TFC reached over and touch her arm.

The dragonborn straightened up and his snout turned up in a smile. “I am Clethtinthallar Pandjed, Life Cleric of the World Make.” Dipping his head in a formal greeting, he added, “but you may call me Python.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tomorrow’s chapter is probably going to be off-put by one day, I decided to do this on a spur of the moment thing and we’re travelling tomorrow (before you’re like, “that’s not safe it’s COVID” I am well aware, we’re taking necessary precautions on both sides but I don’t have a choice either way, so now I just have to think about how my outfit choices are going to affect me getting misgendered and deadnamed the whole time. It’s either going to be better in the future because I won’t be wearing a dress or worse because I’ll be wearing makeup and apparently guys can’t wear makeup. Long story, I’ll be fine, but tomorrow’s chapter may not come out on time.)  
> Anyways, my imagination well decided to go “brr” at the perfect time because otherwise I would *not* have made it through typing out this chapter (most of which was done between 7:43 am when I managed to get on my computer and then 3:30 pm when I started working on other things [tis the 23 for me at the moment y’all] like my stupid college class). So…yeah. If there are more mistakes than usual, that’s why, but just know that I did write 225 pages over 5 days (which is a hundred and twelve thousand five hundred words total, twenty-two thousand five hundred a day) in sophomore year and my typing speed has only gone up since then.   
> Thanks for reading, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	17. XVI: Clethtinthallar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clethtinthallar Paranjed, also known as Python, guides the Hermits around town. Then, the Hermits end up finding out a little more about the world, and decide to mount the Skyfire Summit in order to find something called the Voidra Kethos.  
> Or in other words, the Void Key.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a slightly shorter chapter (think like four thousand words). I’m stressed (not due to this). Anyways, not my point. There’s going to be some weird POVs in here—one of which is meant to be read like you’re listening to a podcast or something. Trust me, when you see it, you’ll know.  
> Chapter TW for Animal Death, Depictions of Animal Death, Hypothermia, Blood Mentions, etc. (This isn’t going to be a common thing unless you want it to be). Also! The end notes are very long but explain why I suddenly went AWOL and what I’ve been doing since then. As I have finished the outline of the story chapters, things should begin to go a lot smoother, but I’ve begun to hit some minor blocks and may have to focus on my actual job and some other stuff for my family as well.   
> Now, on with the chapter!

And that was how they not only met Python, their next party member…but also discovered that False was Princess Falsymmetra Amakiir, and TFC was not only an aristocrat but also the famous adventurer Tharivol Faust Calish.

Considering what Python revealed _next_ , it was becoming readily more apparent he did not care about whatever secrets they may have.

Looking at xB, he mused, “Wellby Tosscobble. I’m not surprised to see you here.” xB immediately began choking on his drink, looking up at Python with wide eyes. It wasn’t exactly a small revelation, although it _did_ make sense. Wellby Tosscobble was a Lightfoot halfling who started out as a pirate on the _Dragon’s Shard_ , then became a conscripted sailor after he and his mates were routed in the Glaedirian Coast. His mates escaped, he did not. Eventually, he’d worked off some of his debt and then managed to buy the rest of his freedom, where he’d disappeared. At least, that was how the stories went.

Xisuma glanced over at Keralis, who met their gaze and shook his head ever so slightly. Python had no idea who they were. That was a relief. Taking a breath, Xisuma glanced at the dragonborn cleric, who kept revealing secrets. Seriously, the guy just…evidently didn’t care.

Looking Iskall up and down, Python arched a brow and mused, “I’d wondered what happened to you.” And then turned to Tango and dipped his head. “Tango Nowhere. I’m glad to see you’ve made it this far.” Blinking, Tango glanced him up and down for a moment.

Impulse glanced at him, tapped out a message on Tango’s wrist. Tango tapped something back at him. Nodding, Impulse met Python’s gaze and then looked at Tango, “You want me to word it that way?” Tango nodded. Sighing, Impulse mumbled, “Alright,” and then looked up, “He wants to know who the hell you are because he has never seen you in his life.”

Python smiled softly. “I was a friend of your father’s, once upon a time. He would have been very proud of you.” Tango paused, and Python reached over to gently clap a heavy talon on his shoulder. “It is a shame none of them could see who you grew up to be. Your parents would be very proud.”

Tango yanked away, slid under the table, and then left the inn.

Impulse and Zedaph glanced at one another. Zedaph followed the same path as Tango. Meanwhile, Impulse hopped over the table and they both followed him. “So…now that you’ve chased off three of our members, outed four of us without asking, and apparently know a lot more than we do…” Doc began, looking at Python critically, “Mind telling us what you think you’re doing? Most of the other Hermits didn’t introduce themselves so…dramatically.”

“You know, ignoring the fact that Biffa introduced himself by bashing the head off a skeleton as flames destroyed the town behind him.” Etho commented, and Doc looked at him. “What?”

“Not really helping.” Xisuma smiled behind their helmet, and Python swallowed and then looked at them all.

“I apologise. I did not realise that the situation was so tense.” Indicating Iskall, he asked, “I assume this one got into a fight with the Cy—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Scar hurriedly said. Meanwhile, Stress reached up and actually forcefully clamped Python’s jaws shut with her hands. “ _Dude, stop—what are you doing? Why are you like this!”_

“I’m going to go talk to Cub about getting rooms.” TFC sighed, getting up. “False, please come with me. Python, don’t reveal anyone else’s secrets, please.” Python blinked a few times, then nodded. Sighing and running a hand over his face, TFC mumbled, “I’m getting too old for this,” and then walked away.

An awkward silence settled over the table. If Xisuma had to guess, it was because no one wanted Python to accidentally reveal _their_ secrets. Mostly because that was what _they_ were doing. If Python didn’t notice them, then maybe he wouldn’t say anything about them. _Can’t afford to have that happen. Not this time._ They mused, taking a breath.

Apparently, Bdubs had no secret to hide. Holding out his hand to Python, he brightly said, “Hey, Python! My name’s Bdubs, and this is Hypno.” The monk waved beside him, smiling just as brightly. When Python tilted his head, Hypno began signing at him.

“Ah. You cannot speak.” Python said, and Hypno nodded. When he continued signing, Python watched him. Xisuma still hadn’t managed to pick up most of Hypno’s signs—he kept any conversation with anyone who wasn’t Bdubs as brief as possible. Xisuma had a feeling the monk had always been…of few words (was that a rude way to put it? Of few signs? Maybe he just didn’t talk even when he had the ability). “I’m very sorry that happened, but I’m sure that he was caught.”

Hypno shrugged nonchalantly, signed something else. This one Xisuma actually recognised. _“I don’t care, it’s in the past.”_ He’d signed it quite a bit, usually after someone apologised for stepping on his foot when dismounting (it happened too much amongst all of them, but Hypno was the one who didn’t immediately yelp).

“A good idea to keep. So long as the offence was not something severe.” Python agreed, and Joe cleared his throat. When Python looked to him, a certain kind of recognition passed through his gaze. He did not act on it, however.

“So…Python, any particular reason why you chose to meet up with us in Hullenbráck?” Joe asked, adjusting his guitar case (once he’d revealed he could shift his instrument’s form, everything seemed to make a bit more sense) on his back. “I’m sure it’s for more of a reason than you didn’t want to slow us down or you didn’t want to leave your home. I know your hometown isn’t Hullenbráck.” Python nodded with his neck and shoulders, bobbing just a little bit as he sat down where TFC had been a little while before.

“Ah, yes, that…” Trailing off, Python continued, “I believe I have a lead on the Cursed Crown. And it involves the Storm’s Claws. And the Skyfire Summit.” Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have you ever heard of the Void?”

“A child’s fairytale.” Mumbo mused.

“No,” Doc said quietly. Everyone looked to him, and he met Python’s gaze. “The Storm’s Claws are said to be the gateway to the Void, to where the Athava supposedly lived. But that’s not it.” Python nodded, straightening up a little bit.

“It is no legend—and we need to find the _Voidra Kethos_ to get in.” He said, and Xisuma froze. Everyone went quiet for a little while.

“The Void Key.” The finally whispered, and everyone looked to them. Keralis’ eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Xisuma’s hands shook where they were as they pulled them close, hid them beneath the table. “You need us to find the Void Key. Because you have a lead on the Cursed Crown, and you think that we need to get to the Void’s gateway.”

Python nodded, and a chill rushed over everyone at the table.

+++

Here’s what you need to know.

There isn’t just the single realm in the Hermits’ world.

Rather, there are several. Common nicknames for them are the Void (in some texts, the End), the Nether, the Aether, and the Overworld. Na’atharin, the formal name for the Nether, was ruled by a being known by two names. Some called it Neté, others Ne’theria. It was a common claim that tieflings come from the hell dimension. They really don’t. No one quite knows where they came from originally, but it does make sense that they would think _something_ came from the dimension. After all, something _did_ —a species so rare most don’t even know they exist at all. The En’dir.

Ironically, most would think the En’dir come from the End, and the Athava from the Nether. For some reason (probably the World Maker screwing with us _[don’t give me that look, Samara, you know I’m right. Who lets a_ teenager _have that much power? Oh, “every single young adult novel author in existence”? Well shut up you don’t know what you’re talking—no—STOP IT, GIVE THAT BACK]_

Whaddup _[LANGUAGE! DON’T SWEAR INTO MY RECORDER!]_ Stop treating me like a child. _[MoooOOM! Samara took my recorder!]_ Yeah, go complain to Mom! Give me time to—oh my gosh he just slammed the door he’s so immature. Haha, okay, what am I…ugh, he’s giving you the boring version of this world’s history. Okay, excuse my knuckles cracking, uh…where do I start…oh, no, I know where to start! Haha, this is going to be great.

Alright, so…there’s three realms that aren’t the Overworld, right? There’s N’'atharin, the Nether; then there’s the _[Vakar, shut up or I swear I’m going to throw you into the ocean I am recording for you!] Anyways,_ the formal name for the Void or the End is Villadi’or. Then there’s the Aether, better known as Aethra. So original, I know. Anyways, there’s the rulers of those three realms, too. They’re all supposedly under the World Maker, who keeps a pretty good watch over everything if you ask me. I mean, I definitely wouldn’t envy having to watch over—

_[If you’re going to take over my recording at least stay on track!]_

_Ugh, fine,_ I’ll keep your stupid history lesson on track. Anyways, World Maker watches over the Overworld. There, fine, staying on track. Ne’theria and Neté are the same thing, they’re the guardian over Na’atharin. Then you have Villadi’or, which is ruled by the Void Queen Zelonnia. She’s a sweetheart, but she’s really sad. I think it’s because she—ow!

_[Spoilers!]_

Stop being so _mean,_ jeez! You could have just yelled over me, you didn’t have to hit me with a pillow. Anyways, since Vakar is giving me a look I’m going to wrap this up pretty quickly. Aethra, the Aether, is ruled by the Sky Monarchs, I think. X’elodian and X’arinn. They’re nice, too, I guess. I haven’t seem them in a while, they’re looking for these two runaways and I guess—agh, Vakar!

.

..

…

..

.

Yes, I finally got it back. Samara’s locked out of my room, she won’t be coming back for a while. HAha, beat _that_ you little _grubworm_. Anyways, I’m going to… _ugh,_ she got the fun part! Now I have to let you guys go _back, ugh._

_Whatever,_ I’ll talk to you later. Stupid Samara.

+++

They started climbing the mountains at dawn.

The older guys—Cub, TFC, the dwarves, and Python—all went off to talk while everyone had settled down in the inn room for the night. Joe had plucked away on his guitar, scribbling down something in his notebook and smiling at the letter in front of him as he read it. Scar hadn’t gotten much of a look at it, he wasn’t trying. Having someone pry into your personal life was never fun.

Scar knew that feeling all too well.

Looking at Iskall and Grian, then at Mumbo, he took a breath. The two were still tense around one another, although at least they weren’t actively _trying_ to get in each other’s way. _It’s better than them fighting, I guess._ Mumbo sat down by Doc, Ren, and Jevin, working on his little pseudodragon again. Cleo walked over with a cup of some kind of drink for Jevin, who took it and smiled gratefully before taking it. Smiling, she pulled herself into the saddle of her horse, and Jevin sighed before picking up his own reins. Xisuma and Keralis were talking to one another, riding so close that their knees could brush.

Etho’s hand clapped down on Scar’s shoulder. Jerking, he turned to look at the young man. “Hey, you alright? You seem a little…lost in your head.” Etho mused in concern, and Scar smiled at him.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright.” Nodding, Etho went back to walking, and Scar turned back to the mountains. The peaks reached into the dawn-graced, rosy pink clouds of fog that wreathed them all, and the morning sun cast gentle golden streams over the rocks. Dramatic highlights and the arching ridges along the Skyclaws’ faces, bright oranges and browns in the dawn, loomed above them. A sudden sense of foreboding swallowed Scar’s heart, and he reached up to pet Jellie where she was scarfed around his neck. “Alright, Jells. Let’s do this.” She meowed and rubbed her head against his cheek, and he hauled himself into his mare’s saddle.

The first few hours of riding were pretty boring, actually. Not that Scar was surprised, or ungrateful. He much preferred a boring ride to a tense one (he still had the scars from when he got lost after… _leaving_ the alchemists. Not one of his brightest moments). Everyone fell into line, with Cub and Python in the lead and Biffa and Beef right behind them. xB was catching up, he’d slowed down to chat with Joe and the Three Idiots and Bdubs (they really needed a better name, Scar knew that the “Three Idiots” weren’t _actually_ idiots). Cleo and Ren were just in front of Scar, chatting quietly about something. Between them, Grian rode but said nothing. On the bright side, he was actually listening to what Cub had said and riding with them. On the downside, it meant he and Iskall were still fighting. Glancing back at Mumbo, TFC, and False, Scar took a shaky breath and looked at the sky for stormclouds. Tawny was flying overhead, and Scar swore he saw glimpses of Shadow darting between the trees. Maybe he was mistaken, though.

The steady sound of the horses’ hooves thudding on the hard-packed dirt lulled him into his own thoughts.

Honestly, that was probably a mistake. Whenever Scar’s thoughts wandered like _that_ , his mind darted back to one of his last nights with the alchemists. Wondering what he did wrong, what he may have been able to change if only he’d managed to—“Scar!”

Jerking, he looked ahead. Doc was waving at him, head tilted slightly. Beside him, Iskall and Wels were riding, neither talking but still taking in what was around them. “What’s up, Doc?” He asked, grinning slyly. Rolling his eyes, Doc turned to the road ahead.

“You looked lonely and these two aren’t talking. Besides, you have a weird look on your face. What’s up?” Scar laughed weakly, glanced at Iskall, and then shrugged. “Scar, _please_ don’t leave me with a third silent person. There’s only so long you can listen to your own voice before it gets boring. And I’ve already told all my interesting stories, you have to have _something_ that’s okay to talk about.”

Pausing, Scar looked ahead and stroked Jellie’s fur absentmindedly. “I have a _lot_ of interesting stories. How inappropriate are you willing to hear?”

“Ooh, what’s going on?” Zedaph asked, pulling on the reins of his horse as he and his little group fell into line. _Oh, this is going to be lovely._

“Scar is going to tell us a story, if he wants. I think.” Wels mused, touching a lightly closed fist to his chin and frowning slightly. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to tell us.”

“Yes, it might be an inappropriate story so you children should leave. Post-haste.” Doc flapped his hands in their direction like he was shooing a cat. Tango jokingly hissed at him. Rolling his eyes, Doc said, “So mature of you.”

“Doc, I have two kids.” Bdubs laughed lightly. “I am no child.”

“I didn’t mean you, Bdubs. I meant these ones.” Waving his hand at Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango (and also Joe, because the other bard was right behind the three of them), Doc turned to Scar. “Can the children hear your tale, oh Mighty Scar?”

Chuckling, Scar rubbed the back of his neck. “You certainly aren’t laying off any of the pressure, are you, Doc?” He turned to look at the three and asked, “It’s not a sex thing, I swear.” Relief flashed across Impulse’s face, and Scar tucked that information away for later. Not that he’d use it, he just found it…slightly worrisome. “Anyways, it’s kind of just…embarrassing?”

“Okay, give us the gist of it and I’ll decide if I want to hear it.” Zedaph said, and Scar paused to think for a quick second. Taking a breath, he tilted his head to the side.

“Uh…how does me getting my pants ripped off by a plant experiment gone wrong sound?”

Zedaph’s purple eyes sparkled and he leaned forwards on his horse’s neck, grinning wickedly. “Very, very interesting.” Everyone else, including people who hadn’t been part of the group in the first place (Cleo, Ren, and Grian in particular, although Iskall did send a warning look the Cy’Ratha’s way. Pausing, Scar glanced at Impulse. _Does he count as a Cy’Ratha? Do they only have feathered wings, or are there different subraces? So many questions and not enough answers…_ ), seemed rapt with attention. _Oh, Jellie., what have I gotten myself into?_

Running a hand over his hat (he was trying to card his fingers through his hair and forgot that he had his hat on, okay? Sometimes it happened), Scar said, “Alright…so it all started when one of my peers, Rhoda Mirellies, dared me to…”

+++

They met snow on the second night.

And it wasn’t just snow. No, this snow seemed to have some kind of vengeance, or some kind of agenda against them. They sheltered with their backs against the wind, a rocky crag providing them with some kind of housing. The frost chilled through their clothes, the biting zephyr snapping its fangs through clothes and skin and muscle all the way down to their bones. It was the kind of breeze you couldn’t walk through, and Scar had grown up on a windward shore. He knew what a cold wind felt like, and he knew this was going to be a bad one. It didn’t _seem_ cold, but on this kind of mountain…on the _Skyclaws_ of all things…well, suffice to say he held no love or trust for the tempest he just knew was brewing.

Dark silver clouds lingered heavy on the heavens, and Scar glanced up at them with a frown and a wrinkled nose. Meanwhile, Cub was going through the camp with Grian right behind him, talking to everyone and checking that they were properly prepared for settling in for…however long it was. Scar glanced down at his gloved hands, rubbed them together and then cursed himself. He was in the School of Evocation, one would think that he would know _something_ about how to stop a small snowstorm, if not a blizzard. But all of his knowledge just seemed to be…escaping him, like a little snowflake blown away in the wind.

Speaking of snowflakes, they were starting to settle on his gloves and sleeves. Brushing the little white dots away, Scar took a breath and then turned to head back into the main part of the camp. Stress had her hands resting on the barren grey rock face where the rest of the wind was coming from, Etho right beside her. _She’s not going to be able to summon a tree,_ Scar frowned, looking at the young druid, _I don’t think even Keralis or Cleo could, and I don’t doubt that they’re stronger than she is._

Ducking into his tent, he went back to preparing for the storm.

+++

The wind howled outside, and Etho sat at the entrance to his and Stress’ tent with his ears pricked.

He was lucky. Werefoxes were a bit luckier when it came to control, seeing as foxes were…whatever, he didn’t actually know. His parents had taught him stuff long before, and he had since…kind of forgotten completely. Of course, he had more important things to worry about, like not getting murdered by his own guildmates on his missions. He’d seen it happen too many times (even once would have been too many times, he should have left the moment he realised what was going on).

Taking a breath of the snow-smelling air (fresh and sharp all at once, mountains had a particular kind of air to them with underhints of pine forest and conifers. They smelled the way a dark blue, glassy-watered lake looked when there wasn’t even a hint of a breeze and then sun was setting beyond the mountains behind you, lighting up the one in front of you that gorgeous rosy gold tone that had a kind of magic to it. Etho liked the smell quite a bit, when he thought of it.), he turned to look at Stress where she and the horses were curled. Taking a breath, he glanced at the tent flaps. Something outside yelped, and he frowned before looking at Stress. Soft pink eyes met his, and she tilted her head to the side. Looking back at the tent flaps, he padded over and flicked his tail once before looking back at her. She nodded, and he ducked into the winter storm.

Immediately, snow and ice attacked him. Cutting through the thinner layer of his fur, it chilled as much as it could before he shook himself, loosening the frost from his coat. Shaking his head, he looked ahead and pricked his ears. A scent wafted by on the breeze and he started plodding through the layers of white snow towards the source. _What is it?_ He swore it sounded familiar, something he’d heard repeatedly when he was younger and living with the fox pack in his hometown.

_Why would another werefox be out here?_

There was a growl from behind him as he trotted between the dark trunks and blue-toned leaves of the conifers around him. Whipping around, Etho looked up to see a beast towering over him. It didn’t seem to be fully solid, snow swirling over and around and _through_ its figure. A pair of bright, pale turquoise eyes stared down at him, and the beast—which looked rather like a wolf, now that he thought about it—leaned down and gently pressed its nose to his own. It felt like he had touched his nose to solid ice over a frozen ocean.

Panting, Etho met the creature’s eyes as it withdrew. Turning, it pointed its head towards the camp, then shifted and looked to the opposite direction. Etho followed its gaze, ears pricked and tail flicking. There was the sound again. Soft but still there. Glancing back at the creature, Etho hesitated before padding towards the noise, glancing back every so often to make sure the beast was still there. It was standing in the snowbanks even as its paws did not sink into the drift. He could barely even see much more than its outline, the blisteringly cold wind whipping around it. Taking a breath, he padded on through the storm.

He nearly tripped.

Slamming on the brakes, he looked down over the edge of the drift. Warm air hit his nose, and there was the torn open entrance to what had to be a fox den. He could smell the sharp musk of a mother fox. He could also smell the warm, metallic heat of freshly spilled blood. Hopping down, he landed on the snow and poked his head into the den. _This would be a great time to be able to see more than_ yellow. He cursed silently, shaking his head and then slinking into the den.

There was another one of the yelps, and he paused in the entrance to the larger chamber of the den. Wrinkling his nose, Etho nearly backed out at the thick reek of blood before the yelp sounded off again and again. Shaking his head and snorting, he padded deeper into the den, trying not to inhale too much of the stench.

White fur flashed in the dim light streaming through the den opening, and he tilted his head as he padded closer. Lying in an indent in the floor, covered in dirt and blood, was a small, white fox kit. It was an actual fox, not a werekind like he was, but still it recognised him somehow. Walking over, he touched his nose to its and looked around. The blood was still fresh—why hadn’t the mother come back? And why had the beast guided him there? Surely the vixen wouldn’t have left her kit…would she?

_Maybe something forced her to._ Taking in the blood, Etho glanced down at the fox kit. If he left it where it was, there was no guarantee that it was going to be able to find food. It might starve to death, especially if its mother was…. _well, looks like I’m going to be impulsive and stupid. Maybe they should have it be the_ Four _Idiots._ Rolling his eyes, he leaned down and gently picked the kit up by the scruff of its neck. It stank of several different things that he decided he was not going to think about.

Turning, he carried it out of the den, shuddering at the cold and tucking it close to his chest. It was a white fox, it should survive the trek back to the den. He hoped.

Turning, he leapt up onto the bank and saw the monster where it was standing in the woods. It nodded in the direction of the camp, and he nodded as he passed before breaking into a sprint. The wind and snow rushed around them, and he felt the kit bouncing against his chest. Mewling reached his ears, and he pulled to a stop as they reached where the tents began. Sniffing, he started looking for Stress (he couldn’t tell apart the difference in the colours, it was one of the things that happened when he transformed. Sometimes he had full range of colours, other times he didn’t. No, he didn’t know why and there wasn’t anyone that he could ask).

Slipping into the tent, he dropped the kit on the closest pillow and then shifted back, ripping off his jacket and bundling the little thing up as quickly as he could. “Oh. You have to be cold.” Stress said, and he shrugged before running a hand through his hair. Snowmelt brushed against his fingers and he started towelling off the kit, not even thinking about anything other than getting it warm.

Mewling, the kit scrabbled its way out of the jacket, turning and biting needle-sharp teeth into his hand. Grabbing its muzzle, Etho barked at it and the fox jolted back. _It’s going to imprint on me, if it hasn’t already._ Sighing, he resigned himself to the life of fox parent for the next ten months or so and continued cleaning it off. “Do you have any extra water?” He asked, and Stress handed him a flask. Sitting down and yanking the fox kit into his lap, he started scrubbing gently at its fur with the water.

“Etho Reynard, tell me you did not just ruin your jacket in order to clean off a fox pup when you could have just used one of the blankets.” Glancing at said blankets and then his jacket, Etho shrugged and went back to washing the fox kit. It had a bit of brown on its head and the backs of its ears, but he knew that’d fade. When he was younger, he’d had the same patterning. Well, maybe not _quite_ the same, and his patches had been grey instead of brown, but similar enough. “Etho!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Etho mused, shrugging calmly. He looked down at the little fox in his lap, then smiled softly as it shook droplets of water from its coat. Using a blanket that Stress chucked at him, he gently towelled it off and then asked, “Do you have any jerky?”

“Get your own jerky. I need to try and salvage this.” She went over and dragged his jacket to her. Chuckling, Etho went and settled down against his horse, holding the kit in his lap and cuddling it close. “What are you going to name it?”

Pausing, Etho looked over the little thing, stroked its fur, and said, “I think I’m going to call her Side Kit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably came out late. Long story short, I ended up having to do thirty-two history assignments (eighteen of which included notes and then quizzes for those notes) in five days so that I can actually graduate high school this year. Fun times. But yeah, that’s why this is late—my mom decided that I was going to have to come with her to school and their firewalls have decided that Ao3 is apparently a bad thing. Whatever, it happens and I’ll adapt, I’m still allowed to go on Ao3 at home.  
> Anyways, some good news is that now I have a lot less stress without the history class, which means I can focus more on my writing (which includes this, once I’ve finished applying the prelim edits to Magic Paintbrush because I *finally* finished those). Also, I didn’t realise girl in red was the artist behind the “they’re so pretty it hurts” song from all the LGBTQ+ tik tok comps on YouTube? Like…wow. Anyways, usual teenage angst here with no romantic partners but that’s fine because I’m pretty sure my parents would ban me from having a girlfriend anyways because they think I’m a girl. (Okay I’m inserting an emoji and being extra so please forgive me haha :P is the only reaction I can use. Like, yes, I could use words but why would I use a rapier when a folding chair is what applies to the situation?) Oh, and I complimented two people without exploding from anxiety and my mom’s male coworker has a husband and I did my English stuff on time and did a missing Journalism article, ordered some pride flag patches online, and now I just need to figure out whether the flag I flip over my shoulders at graduation will be the nonbinary, trans, or asexual flag. Is there going to be a fallout? Probably, but this time I won’t be accused of being attention seeking if I’m the one graduating.  
> ALSO! I do have the email so that I can set up the tumblr for this AU! If you’ve done art of the series before (Anonymous_Lobster and Ghaniya1908, I’m looking at you two), please let me know if it’s okay to reblog your art. In one case, it’s Instagram, but my parents still won’t let me back on to take over my account again (long story there but I don’t miss the social media, honestly). For those of you who haven’t had your comments answered, I sincerely apologise. I was finishing up on those history classes and now that I’m likely to graduate, I should be good!  
> I hope y’all had a good Thanksgiving, I know that it can be hard sometimes in the case of unsupportive family, different ideas being kept way too close to one another, etc. Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, thank you for reading. I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	18. XVII: The Skyfire Summit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making their way into the Skyfire Summit’s various caverns, the hermits run into a variety of problems. Some of them end up separated from the group for a time…and some issues are brought to torchlight.  
> Oh, and to say Grian and Iskall fight like the classic “old married couple” would be the understatement of every single second since humanity started.   
> (Please be aware this chapter totals in at almost 15k words, and it is a mega chonker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS A CHONKER. LIKE OH LAWD HE COMIN LEVELS OF CHONKER. (Aka it is 14,808 words [38 pages] and I believe that is the biggest single chapter I have written for almost anything. So…wow. This thing’s longer than my history chapters like *wow*)  
> This is super weird coming back because I just finished up the outline for this whole work (not the typing, apologies, I’m still trying to catch up). Also, this chapter was slightly put off because I managed to drop a sprinkle down into my laptop keyboard and now Word probably thinks I’m trying to sound like I’m stuffed up because…yeah. Kind of embarrassing, I did it in the midst of class.   
> I realise now the comment from my last (incredibly sleep-deprived) notes about my mom’s male coworker having a husband may be weird, but in short it’s because I did not expect her to be so nice about it and so I was grinning stupidly behind my mask because I grew up in a very polarized environment that was and might still be decidedly anti-LGBTQ+. Like “oh, those ladies are just roommates” for that one episode of Good Luck Charlie.   
> We have finals pretty soon so I might be a little slow, sorry y’all. Uh…I should be catching up on chapters pretty soon, but I’m not exactly sure. Binge-listening to LGBTQ+ songs (like I have listened to “girls” by girl in red so many times lately) so if anyone has any suggestions for like *clean* ones that’d be nice. Also, if there’s a ton of updates really quickly even more than the ones from now until…eugh, probably “King’s Shadow”. Yes, seventeen chapters from the last one or so. Fight me.  
> Chapter Specific TWs: Scars, Implied/Referenced Gore, Gore, Blood, Blood and Injury, Monster/Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Forced Amputation (Temporary), Mild Gore, Lots of Conflict, Fighting, Possession, more TBA upon realisation or information.

When they came to the rock dungeon above the clouds, Bdubs’ mind darted back to the mossy dungeon room he’d seen. He wasn’t sure why, he just…it came to mind. Something about the slopes around them. Glancing at Zedaph from the corner of his eye, he looked ahead and then noticed something was on either side of the entrance.

“Are those…stone dragons?” Tango asked, staring up at the statues with awe written across his features. Bdubs took a breath, studying the statues. Carved along their scales were runes, and he walked up to touch one of the talons. Cool stone brushed against his fingers, and he closed his eyes.

“Bdubs?” Scar asked, and he opened his eyes to turn and look at him. Some of the others were having a harder time breathing up this high, and Bdubs took a deep breath.

“They’re guardians of some kind. Tread lightly.” Keralis warned, and Bdubs and the others all looked to the druid. Despite all the eyes on him, Keralis didn’t meet a single set, staring up at the statues instead. “We don’t know what we might find in here.”

Then, he walked up to the entrance, pressed a hand on the carved wooden door, then pushed it open gently.

As they walked into the main chamber, Bdubs looked around. Grian gasped and raced off to go look at some of the columns, apparently in a pretty good mood that day. One of his hands travelled over the carved stone surface, and he started chattering on and on, “This is from the Valithiiian Era, I recognise the carving technique. Older druids brought stone from some of the quarries down south and no one knows how they managed to get them here because of how heavy the stone was and they couldn’t do like a ton of different things because it kept breaking everything that we could try. And then they built these dungeons, look! There’s the sigil!” He pointed up, to where an odd-looking symbol, a continuous loop with three parts set against what appeared to be some kind of flower.

“Oh. Wow” Zedaph gasped, and Grian nodded excitedly. Iskall was watching him curiously, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Even though the tense air between them seemed to be rising and falling depending on the day, and Scar had _hoped_ it would be a nicer day, it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon.

“That is so cool you know that, Grian.” Stress complimented. In the dim light streaming in from the entrance, Grian’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away. Mumbo walked over to the column and pressed a hand against it, taking in something. All of a sudden, something flashed across Iskall’s face, and Bdubs heard the slightest _click_ as Mumbo walked over.

“Mumbo, Grian, _move!”_ Iskall crossed the gap between them in a few strides, tackling both of them away as the ground started dropping away. Behind them all, the doors slammed shut and darkness shrouded them all. Stress and Zedaph screamed, Cub bellowed something to everyone, and Grian and Iskall both screamed in pain before going eerily silent. Around them, the room shook and Bdubs felt himself fall to the tiles of the floor. Pebbles and dust scattered over and around them all, bouncing against his back and shoulders.

“Cover your heads!” Cub roared, and Bdubs did as ordered until the shaking finally stopped. There was a snapping sound, and Python hissed softly. Opening his eyes, Bdubs looked over to see the dragonborn was holding his mouth open, flames crackling in his maw. The shaking had stopped, and the flames cast a soft orange light around them all. Straightening up, Cub called out, “Everyone alright? Sound off!”

“Cleo, Joe, and I are here. A few scrapes and maybe a bit shaken, but alright.” Ren announced.

Bdubs glanced around for Tango, Zedaph, and Impulse. None of them were too hurt, thankfully, although Zedaph was currently pressing a bandage to the side of Impulse’s head. There was a bit of blood streaming down from a cut on his temple. “Impulse has a head wound, but Tango and Zedaph and I are all alright.”

“Etho and I are fine.” Stress coughed, wiped some dust off of her shoulder. Meanwhile, Etho stood in his fox form over his little white fox kit. “So is Side Kit.”

“I can’t believe you named her that.” Doc mused, and Etho shifted back into a human and cuddled Side Kit closer.

“Well Doc seems to be alright.”

“Of course I am, I’m a cleric. So I’d watch out.” Doc teased, tone softening as he spoke. “I’m fine, Scar and Python are be me and alright. If anyone’s hurt, let me know.”

Nearly everyone called off. Wels and Jevin were a little scraped up—they’d shielded some of the more fragile members from being hurt (fragile being Biffa, Beef, and xB, apparently. Understandably, Biffa was not happy with being called “fragile” but appreciated the gesture). Xisuma and Keralis were alright, other than Xisuma having a gash on their shoulder and their helmet knocked off. No one went over, and Python turned away so that Xisuma’s face was shadowed enough until Keralis fetched their helmet and they were hidden away again. Hypno, False, and TFC were all okay as well, just a bit shaken up like the others were.

“Alright.” Cub let out a relieved breath, and Bdubs frowned. _Something’s wrong._ “Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, you three good?” There was a pause, and the silence grew tenser and tenser with every passing heartbeat. Panic leeched into Cub’s voice as he stumbled to his feet. “Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, respond. Are you alright?” Turning, he ordered, “Scar, can you make a light orb?”

“On it.” Scar cast the spell, and the bright orange light casting dramatic shadows all over the cave left Bdubs blinking dark spots out of his vision. Cub took it and walked over to where they’d last heard Grian, Iskall, and Mumbo. Stumbling to his own feet, Bdubs looked up and froze.

Where the trio had last been, the floor had collapsed away, disappearing into the shadows.

+++

Skizzle knew it was going to be a problem when the doors of the dungeon slammed shut behind the Hermits.

Racing up, he slammed his hands on the wood with a loud curse, barely able to balance as the earth shook beneath his feet. Taking a few sharp breaths as the shaking slowly eased to a stop, he pressed his forehead to the icy, frost-dusted oak and closed his eyes. “Well, Ventus,” he murmured with a breath, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

There was a warmth that settled over his shoulders. Smiling, he stepped back and looked around for a tree. Standing on the edge of the rocky precipice was a lone pine tree, the soft breeze whistling through its green needles. Skizzle strode over, reached up, and hauled himself into the tree. He settled down, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and leaned against the trunk.

He’d be waiting a while, it seemed.

+++

Mumbo sucked in gasping breath and shot upright, looking around. It was dark, so dark. _Okay, okay, calm down,_ scrambling through his bag. Jumbo crawled out and onto his shoulder, her little wing twitching and sparking with electricity. In the darkness, her eyes glowed like rubies with torches inside them. “Sorry, dear. I promise I’ll fix your wing when we get out. Actually I swear it.”

“You shouldn’t swear…” Iskall’s voice rasped somewhere off to his left, and Mumbo looked around. He must have hit his head on something, he couldn’t see like he normally could. Reaching out, Mumbo felt his fingers brush against what he supposed was probably Iskall’s chest or shoulder armour. “Please stop flailing and just find a light, Mumbo.”

“Sorry.” Closing his eyes, Mumbo turned his torch on and waved it around, the reddish beam falling on Iskall. Immediately, he was glad for the colour. Iskall’s left trouser leg was shredded and torn, and so was the skin underneath. Immediately, Mumbo looked away so that he didn’t throw up. “Uh, Iskall, you—you’re—your leg—”

“I know, Mumbo. Trust me, it hurts.” Iskall growled through gritted teeth, slowly sitting up. “Grian! You down here?” From somewhere in the shadows, Grian screamed rather loudly. It didn’t sound like an injury scream. If Mumbo had to guess, it sounded more like an angry scream than a pained one. “Yup, he’s down here.” Sighing, Iskall rolled his head back and stared up at the ceiling, closing his eyes.

Mumbo glanced at Iskall’s legs, finally managing to hold down the nausea that built up. The assassin was pinned next to some fallen rocks, and with a jolt Mumbo realised he couldn’t see Iskall’s right leg. “Iskall, your _legs_.” Iskall looked down and at his limbs, took a breath and nodded before closing his eyes. “O-okay, I think—I think I might have a healer’s kit in my bag—”

“I had one.” Iskall sucked in a breath and then slowly eased himself back onto the ground. “Think I dropped the bag up there…” Glancing at him, Mumbo realised that Iskall was actually crying. Not much, and it wasn’t like Mumbo could blame him considering the state of his legs, but he _was_ crying. “M-Mumbo, I think I’m going—I think I’m going to pass out.”

_That_ got Mumbo freaking out.

He’d never been good with crises, admittedly. After all, Mumbo was a _builder_ , not a _fighter_ like Jevin or False or a _leader_ like Cub or TFC. He preferred redstone and his robotics to anything else. As Iskall’s head lolled to the side, Mumbo sucked in a few breaths. “Uh, Gri— _Grian, I kind of need you over here! Please?!”_

The Cy’Ratha was suddenly just _there_ , a blood scrape along his cheek and his eyes narrowed. Crouching down by Iskall’s side (there wasn’t much space, barely enough for any of them to have their legs extended even stooped over), Grian slapped the assassin’s cheek none too gently. Iskall’s natural eye fluttered halfway open glassy. _Is he going into shock?_ Mumbo worried, and Grian growled, “Come on, you idiot. You haven’t apologised and neither have I and I know neither of us want _that_ to deal with. You know how Stress and Mumbo and Scar will get.” Iskall mumbled something, and Grian’s eyes narrowed. For the first time, Mumbo realised what looked so wrong about Iskall’s face. His cybernetic eye was dark, half-lidded and dull. _“Victor.”_

“Don’t…call me…Victor.” Iskall wheezed, staring at the ceiling dully. Cursing vulgarly, Grian started digging through his and Mumbo’s packs. “You hurt?”

Mumbo glanced over Grian, who shifted his shoulders. His wings were pressed against his back, where his shirt had been ripped open. Blood slicked Grian’s skin there, showing off scars and deep gashes. Without even a moment’s hesitation, Grian replied, “I’m fine.”

Iskall held his gaze for a moment, took a few shaking breaths, and then passed out.

“Is he okay? Are you okay? You’re bleeding.” Mumbo whispered, and Grian took a breath. Looking at Iskall, the Cy’Ratha frowned.

“I can’t fly, Iskall is out, and you’re freaking out.” Grian replied, and Mumbo glanced back when he did the same. “There’s a way out that way, I can sense it in the wind drafts.” As if to explain, he flexed his feathers. Pulling out a potion, he forced it down Iskall’s throat and waited for a few moments, then hefted the unconscious man up and onto his shoulders. Fanning his wings out, teeth gritted, Grian glanced at Mumbo and breathed, “come on.” Grian started stumbling down the pathway, and Mumbo followed with Jumob flying in front of them both were her bright ruby eyes lighting the way.

Wringing his hands as they emerged into a more open chamber, Mumbo prayed to anyone out there that they’d be okay.

+++

It took them several hours longer than Tango would have liked for everyone to calm down.

Of course, then they decided they had to move on, they had to hope that everything would be okay. Keralis and Scar both had reassured them everything would be fine, and all it took was Bdubs joining in to convince Cub that they could, in fact, move on. So they had continued to move on, and Tango stayed as close to Zedaph and Impulse as possible. He didn’t want to lose anyone else.

The first room that they entered was blindingly white, with blond plank floors and patterned white walls. White furniture with intricate gold insets carved into it sat around there. Littered over the walls, carved in and filled with even more gold, were seventy-seven different symbols. Tango couldn’t make out any of them, but to be fair he didn’t have the best of education. That kind of thing happened when one was nearly murdered and then thrown out at thirteen years old to face the world. In the middle of the room, sitting on a gold-lined white podium, was a little switch thing.

Curious, Biffa walked over and flipped it.

Immediately, the lights of the room switched to a dark red. “Biffa!” Beef yelled, and xB face-palmed with a sigh. Grinning nervously, Biffa reached for the switch and then unflipped it. Nothing happened. Well, actually, something else happened.

The symbols on the wall started flashing bright, ruby red.

“ _BIFFA!_ ” Beef yelled, and the blond dwarf ducked his head ashamedly. Rolling her eyes, False walked over and pressed a hand to the symbol before sighing in annoyance herself. “Stop _pressing random buttons! This is why you have that scar on your face!”_

Laughing, Biffa rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled, “I guess I still haven’t learned my lesson.”

“Clearly.” Doc said, crossing his arms over his chest. The symbols were ticking down—Tango had counted twenty of them already, one for every second. As they did, a feeling of unease rattled through Tango and he grabbed Zedaph’s arm with his tail to pull the half-elf closer. Meanwhile, around his other arm, Tango felt Impulse’s own scaled tail wrap around his elbow and squeeze once, gently.

“I don’t like this.” He murmured, and Zedaph reached over to gently rub his shoulder. Across the room, Cleo and Ren were trying to figure out what was going on, studying one of the markings and talking quietly. Cub, Joe, and Keralis studied another one. In the middle of the entrance, Xisuma stood frozen like they were just…well, Tango wasn’t even sure. Striding over, TFC took False’s arm and led her away. In his hand, there was something sparking—magical energy. _He’s planning on saving himself and False if things go wrong. Not if I can blame them._ Looking at Zedaph and Impulse and thinking of what had happened to Grian and the others, Tango shuddered slightly and caught his friends’ attention as he did.

Wels and Jevin paced around the perimeter of the room, tapping at the edges with their blades. xB was checking things out as well, and Etho and Stress sat down on one of the couches. “Hey, Tango, come on. You look like you’re about to fall over.” Impulse murmured, pulling Tango away and settling him down on the bed. Python strode over to Bdubs, spoke softly to him. Whatever it was, the warlock shook his head and Tango took a short breath. As the symbols counted down, everyone started to fall into silence. The symbols ticked down—only three hadn’t gone. Then two. Then one.

Stiffening, Tango waited for whatever might happen.

There was a loud creak, and then the door slowly creaked open…and several others opened as well. Something stumbled out, metallic chrome skin shining gold in the bright lights of the lanterns scattered around the room. Ruby red eyes sparked to life and one of the creatures stumbled forwards with a swing of its sword. The blade lashed over Jevin’s shirt. It cut right through…and then right through his skin as well. Instead of reacting. Jevin shuddered with the most disgusted face and then hacked the thing’s head off. “Run. Run, just get out of here.” Jevin urged, indicating the door. The fighters took on the creatures for the longest, while everyone else darted out, and then they followed.

This led them to a long corridor that they strode down without any problems.

It was too easy. Tango was sure of it. Every single step, he could hear his heart beating loud and clear against the silent stone brick walls. Zedaph ran a hand along one, tracing the gaps in between each and every grey stone with a soft smile on his face. As his fingers traced over moss clinging to the wall, face lit by the soft blue glow, he glanced over and then took Tango’s hand in his. Squeezing with a smile softer than chenille and velvet, Zedaph whispered, “Everything’s going to be alright, Tango. Okay? What’s scaring you?”

Glancing around, Tango traced the outlines of the shadows dancing along the walls and the ceiling. He hated this. He hated everything about it the walls were closing around him. “Not a fan of tight, dark spaces.” He confessed, shuddering. The shadows were looming over him, smiling toothy, sharp smiles at him. Sucking in a few breaths, Tango stared at them with wide eyes.

“Hey, Tango. Tango.” Zedaph’s fingers tightened around his, dragging Tango down just a little. Something was wrong. “Tango, it’s okay. Hey, look at me.” Gentle fingers touched his face, pulled his face away from the shadows. Meeting Zedaph’s dark purple gaze, Tango sucked in a few quick breaths. “You’re hyperventilating. I need you to slow your breathing down. Like this, okay?” Zedaph quickly demonstrated, and Tango tried to copy his friend’s breathing as best as they could. The corridor was too long, they were going too far from the entrance. They were trapped they were trapped they were never going to see the light again they were all going to die down there and no one—

“Tango. We won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.” Impulse reassured, and Tango looked to him.

They walked into yet another room, about the same size as the first but without the furniture. As soon as they left the corridor, Tango found himself breathing so much easier. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a few breaths of the drier air. Zedaph and Impulse’s hands lingered on each of his shoulders as they guided him over to a wall, and he slid down to the floor.

That was when the voice hit his ears.

“Hello there.” Snapping his eyes open, he and the others focused on the door on the other side of the room. There was a face on it, although nothing quite human. More like a giant smiley face carved onto the wood. “Do you want to pass through?”

“Uh…yes?” Cub asked, and the door blinked before smiling wider.

“Alright. I need a sacrifice. Something living. Then you can pass.” Everyone went silent, and Tango fought the urge to growl in annoyance. One break. They hadn’t been able to get _one_ break, and he was about to have some kind of mental breakdown if he didn’t get _some_ sort of one soon. _Now I kind of miss the winter. At least then I wasn’t dying nearly every second._ Zedaph’s fingers latched in his, and Tango glanced over to see concern spreading across the half-elf’s face as he looked out at the other Hermits.

“Don’t worry. No one’s dying.” Cub swore. Behind him, the door looked vaguely unimpressed. _What about Iskall, Grian, and Mumbo?_ A small voice in the back of his mind whimpered.

_They’re fine. They’re alive._

_What if they aren’t?_

Shaking the thought off, Tango took a breath and grabbed Impulse with his tail. If he could have, had Bdubs been close enough and had Tango been able to, he would have grabbed the warlock, too. Instead, though, Bdubs was looking at the face on the door. “Maybe Side Kit or Tawny could work?” Biffa suggested.

Immediately, Stress gasped softly. Snatching Side Kit up and glaring at Biffa, Etho held the kit to his chest and hid her in his jacket before opening his jaws and screaming at Biffa. Meanwhile, xB started yelling out protests in a mix of dwarvish and halfling. Holding up his hands, Biffa stepped back. Hiding his face in one hand, Cub pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath like he was wondering why he had joined the Hermits (Tango sometimes wondered, too, but for different reasons). The argument continued, xB and Etho yelling and screaming respectively while Biffa was chewed out by False, Cleo, Ren, and even Keralis for suggesting the murder of an innocent animal. TFC pointed out they may have to, as they couldn’t exactly kill one of the other Hermits.

As everyone shouted over one another or avoided the chaos, Tango noticed one of the Hermits doing something kind of odd.

Doc was subtly herding everyone closer to the entrance, talking softly and moving with his body. Once he’d maneuvered Joe and Jevin over, the Cryor turned, walked over to the door, and casually said, “I got this.” A sound like a fuse hissing filled the room. Staring at Doc, Tango dimly realised, _oh yeah, he’s a Cryor._

And then Doc blew up.

Like, it wasn’t a casual kind of thing. No, there was smoke and the ground shook and everything. Then, Doc crumpled to the ground, twitching. Electricity sparked along his form. “Doc!” Cub ran over, skidded on his knees to a stop by the cleric’s side and reached for him.

“Stop!” Python ordered, and Cub yanked his hands away to look at the dragonborn with wide dark blue eyes. “Don’t touch him, it’s not safe.”

After a few heartbeats that stretched out into eternity, Doc stopped twitching, sat up, and then immediately fell back. Everyone stared down at him with wide eyes. Chuckling softly, Doc asked, “What? It’s Cryor basics. We blow up.” The Cryor side of his body was doing nothing at all, eye half-lidded and staring blankly at the ceiling. Meanwhile, his cybernetic side seemed perfectly fine. “I’ll be fine in a while, but it’ll take a bit for my organic side to come back. Someone mind carrying me? I’m not all that heavy, despite my rakish good looks.”

Cub chuckled once, and Python went over to heft him onto his shoulders. Doc let out a few yelps, but they got everyone settled and the door was open. “Do you think that was the situation that the door meant?” False asked, looking back with confusion. TFC shrugged casually.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Doc mumbled, head falling against Python’s shoulder as the group ventured further down the corridor behind the door.

As soon as they reached the next room, Tango couldn’t help but groan loudly. There were stone statues _everywhere_ around the walls, which weren’t even actual walls. They were moss-coated and more like the caverns they’d fought the chimera for the most part. Stone bricks surrounded the door and then moved across the floor, ending at three statues. These were the only ones in the middle of the room, made of marble and humanoid in shape rather than some kind of monster like the others were. Each one had a blindfold wrapped around their eyes, stone wings sprouting from their back, and a dress almost like a toga wrapped around their bodies. Long hair fell around their shoulders.

The door slammed shut again and Tango glanced behind him. “Thank you. So much.” Sighing, he ran a hand up into his hair and looked around at the statues. “Okay, I thought the corridor was bad. This is worse. This is so much worse.”

Quietly, Cub walked over and reached for Tango’s shoulder before pausing. “We’re going to be fine, Tango.” He reassured, smiling. Tango nodded once, glancing at the statues and then pausing. The one in the front, holding the scales, started speaking, although her lips didn’t move at all.

_“Choose.”_

“Choose?” Joe echoed, frowning. “What do you mean by choose?”

A soft blue and gold glow filled the room. Shielding his eyes until it went away, Tango looked back and found there were two kids, maybe about thirteen, standing there in front of the statues. Neither of them wore clothes that were any different from the other—just a plain shirt and trousers, nothing else. _“Choose. Who is guilty and who is innocent?”_ The statue demanded again, and there was a long silence.

For a few moments, Tango studied the two young men. At first, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he _could_ have picked up about them. One of them was fair-skinned, with brown hair and eyes and a confused, slightly cold expression on his face. The other had black hair, with red and blue eyes. A set of wings hung from his shoulders, feathers matching his eyes. Flicking nervously, he glanced at the other young man and then away.

“Choose how? We don’t have any evidence!” False shouted, taking a step towards the two young men. One of them flinched away, whilst the other remained firm. “What do you want us to do?”

A few moments passed. Finally, the young man with the two-toned eyes spoke. “You need to decide who’s innocent and who’s guilty.”

“One of us is, one of us isn’t.” Laughing, the brunet tilted his head to the side. “And they get to decide what they do with you if you make the wrong decision.”

“They?” The boy nodded, and Cub frowned. “You meant the statues?” There was another nod, and Cub took a breath and looked between the Hermits. “Are you allowed to give us any more information?” Neither of the boys answered, instead staying completely silent and waiting. “So…we need to choose between the two of you…who’s guilty and who’s innocent. But you can’t tell us anything.”

“This isn’t a fair trial. It’s like Thylama, but we’re the jury.” Doc mumbled darkly from where he was on Python’s shoulders. Everyone shared another look, and Tango glanced between Zedaph and Impulse.

_“Choose.”_ The statues hissed again. Whipping around, False glared at them. TFC grabbed her arm just in time to keep her where she was, rather than let her go for the statues.

“How are we supposed to choose? We don’t have enough information. As far as I can tell, neither of them are guilty!” The two boys’ expressions shifted. The one with black hair suddenly seemed…terrified, somehow. Meanwhile, the other started laughing, a dark grin crossing his face.

“Wrong choice.”

All around them, the eyes of the statues suddenly began to glow gold. Stone ground as stone and pebbles scattered all around the hermits as the statues began to move. Some dropped from the ceiling, landing with heavy _thuds_ that rattled the ground. A guttural noise shook through one of the beasts’ throats, a draconic statue with an impressive rack of horns crowning its head. Shaking, it took a step towards Tango, Impulse, and Zedaph. Massive, grey claws curled in the stone, cracking it under the creature’s weight. _Oh, come on._ The brunet continued to laugh, taking on a wicked tone. When Tango looked to him, there was blood splattered across his entire form. Meanwhile, the other young man had taken a step back, fear splitting his face and a deep gash from where his neck met his left shoulder to his right hip. A swirl of gold magic swept around their feet, wrapped around their bodies, and they both vanished in a spurt of golden dust. The statues lunged, and everyone went for their weapons.

Back to back with Impulse and holding his rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other, Tango thought, _Great. Just great._

+++

Iskall was still unconscious.

Mumbo glanced over at him every so often, but the assassin remained stubbornly still as he hung from Grian’s shoulders. On the bright side, he didn’t seem to be in much pain. On the down side, when he woke up, he’d probably still be in a bit. He’d at least be cranky. _What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he dies? What if he’s dying right now and we just don’t know because of how he’s so still? Is he even breathing?_ Mumbo stumbled forwards, catching himself at the last minute, and Grian glanced back at him with concern in his eyes. In the red light streaming from Mumbo’s torch and Jumbo’s eyes, they seemed less blue and more grey. The blood on his shoulders had dried, turned so dark it was almost black.

“So, Grian, I hope this isn’t a…super sensitive subject…” _Mumbo, stop talking. You’re going to make him mad and then he’s going to leave you with Iskall. You’re both going to be hurt, and he’s your only hope. You need to stay with him._ “Nevermind, it’s a bad question.”

“No, go ahead.” They came to a tunnel, and Grian glanced down each side before extending his wings. The feathers shifted, and Mumbo watched, fascinated, at the little movements in them as Grian found the wind currents. “If it’s a bad question, I’ll just dismiss it. You’re not the kind of person I’d punch for asking a bad question.”

_But Iskall is?_ Mumbo wondered internally, looking at Iskall’s face. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. _That can’t be good. Is he bleeding internally? What if he is? What if he’s dying what if we can’t save him what if we—_

_Focus, Mumbo. You need to focus and not freak out, that won’t help anything if you do._

Taking a calming breath, he asked the question that’d been on his mind, “What…why haven’t you apologised to Iskall yet?” Grian paused up ahead. Holding up his hands, Mumbo hurriedly said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that’s a bad question. I shouldn’t have asked that it’s private I’m sorry I’ll just—”

“No. No, you’re alright.” Grian reassured, shifting Iskall on his shoulders. For the first time, Mumbo realised that the way Grian had to carry Iskall couldn’t have been good for his wings. Even where he was, even with how little light the torch did give, he could see blood dripping from the Cy’Ratha’s wings onto the ground. _So he does care. I think?_

“Do you want me to take Iskall for you?” Grian glanced at him, looked him up and down. “I’m stronger than I look.” A soft smile crossed the Cy’Ratha’s face.

“Sure you are, Mumbo.”

They came to a door. Grian reached for it, and Mumbo snatched his wrist. “Don’t. This isn’t normal.” Studying the door for a moment, the way it was set into the wall, he frowned and then sent Jumbo to investigate. She landed on the doorknob for a moment, then leapt upright. A slimy pink tongue and sharp white teeth snapped for her, and she dodged to the side before running back to Mumbo’s side. “Mimic.”

“Ugh. What I wouldn’t give to have Tango’s shortbow right now.” Rolling his eyes, Grian started shifting and then paused Mumbo, meanwhile, reached into his bag and threw a little orb to the mimic. It snapped it up, then immediately screeched. The door dissolved, and Grian stared at Mumbo for a second. “What—what was that?”

Shrugging, Mumbo said, “They don’t like it. Come on, it’s safe now.” He started walking through the door, and immediately stepped back. “Nope, nope, not safe. Not safe at all.” Grian glanced at him, and Mumbo said, “There’s monsters in there.”

Looking back into the room, Grian shifted Iskall over to Mumbo. “Hold him for a few seconds. I’ll be back soon.” The Cy’Ratha took a few steps into the room, drew his daggers, and disappeared with a yell. There was some zombies growling, the shriek of a wraith or two, and even the familiar hiss of one of Doc’s more…belligerent cousins. Then, Grian reappeared, covered in monster blood and gunpowder, spiderwebs and bone dust, and a weird grin on his face. “Alright, room’s safe now. Mind sending Jumbo in again, I thought I saw a chest in there but it might be a mimic. I don’t particularly feel like losing a hand again.”

Nodding, Mumbo sent Jumbo in. Then, Grian’s words processed and he looked over at his friend, stroking Iskall’s hair as the assassin laid, still unconscious, next to him. “Hold on, _again_?”

“Oh, yeah. It was a long time ago, I was new to moving around while a human. Made the mistake of trying to grab some food because I was starving and didn’t have the money to pay for it at the wrong time.” Holding up one hand, Grian slid the sleeve of his sweater away and the bracelets beneath out of the way as well. Scars marked up the exposed skin there, almost every inch of it. Just under where his wrist and hand met, there was a round and pale mark, a faded pink tone that just stood out from his skin tone. “So they cut my hand off.”

_“They cut your hand off?”_

“It didn’t stay cut off.” Shrugging, Grian turned to look as Jumbo reappeared with two different things in her jaws. One of her wings had some torn membrane, but she dropped a potion bottle in his lap. The liquid itself was a pale, pinkish gold tone, and Mumbo glanced at Grian. “It’s a healing potion. Use it on him, he’s a fighter and he deserves it. Besides, it’s better to have three semi-functioning people than two semi-functioning and one unconscious one.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Plus, I’ve got this.” Grian held up the other thing that Jumbo had brought and stretched his wings forwards. There was a slight grinding noise that Grian ignored, and Mumbo stared at him for a few moments before working on getting the potion down Iskall’s throat. Every so often, he’d glance over, taking in Grian’s appearance before sharply reminding himself that was rude, he shouldn’t be staring at his friend’s scars when it was hidden away for a reason. Scars lashed over his entire body, his spine and his shoulders. There was a thin, pink gash across his neck that Mumbo hadn’t seen before, slicing across the important arteries there. Shuddering and then looking back to Iskall, who was shifting in his sleep and frowning in discomfort, Mumbo tried not to glance over as often. _What happened to you, Grian? Who did this to you?_ Pausing, Mumbo ran his fingers through Iskall’s hair and wondered, _how can I help, if I can at all?_

In his lap, Iskall groaned and sucked in a sharp breath, opening his eyes just a crack. “Mu—Mumbo? Grian?” His head turned from one side to the other, relief flooding through his eyes both times before suddenly, his gaze hardened. His whole expression did, really. Blinking, he sat up what had to be way too fast for his injuries and slowly hauled himself upright using the side of the cavern wall for support. The sudden shift couldn’t have been good for his injuries, but he didn’t seem to care. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Didn’t know you cared.” Grian teased, and Iskall glanced back at him. The softness came back to his face before disappearing just as suddenly. Just like before, the harsh steel came back, and Iskall walked ahead. “You’re welcome for saving your life!” There was a moment of silence, and Grian sighed before pulling himself to his feet and helping Mumbo upright. “Come on, Mumbo Jumbolio. Let’s get back to moving.”

“Your wings—”

“They’re fine.” As if to prove this, Grian flexed the wings, then frowned and picked a few out. Mumbo could have sworn they looked perfectly normal, but…maybe he was wrong?

Grian walked ahead after Iskall, and Mumbo trailed behind while wondering how the others were doing yet again.

+++

A stone tail slammed into Tango’s ribs and threw him to the side.

Flipping, he snatched his rapier and dagger and swung the latter at the statue’s head. Something shot over his head, and he turned to see Jevin had thrown one of his javelins. It pinned the statue he’d been fighting to the cavern wall, going right through where its eyes would have been. Snarling, it kicked at Tango, and he finished it off by driving his rapier into the gap between two slabs of stone in its chest. With a gurgling noise, the blazing golden light in the creature’s eyes faded out, and it went still. “They die like normal! Aim for the gaps in the stones!” He shouted over his shoulder. Zedaph and Impulse turned to look at him, one grinning and one nodding, before their faces split with horror.

Something slammed into Tango’s back and wrapped around him. Distantly, he could hear the others shouting, and something lashed by, cutting his arm. Snarling, he whipped around, felt something flood into his mouth.

Everything went dim for a quick moment, and when they snapped back into reality they were being attacked by something. Whipping around, they snapped at the thing—a little blonde creature with pointed ears and violet eyes. Tipping their head back, they roared as it darted at them, rapier in hand. It vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, and a spark of confusion welled up in their chest. Then it reappeared off to their left, and they turned and slashed at it with their claws. It ducked beneath, rapier flashing, and a spike of pain burst through their ribs. Bellowing, they dodged back on their haunches, swiping their tail and catching the creature’s friends—something that looked similar, but brunet and with yellow wings and…a tail? _Why is it helping them?_ Shaking their head, they wrapped their tail around the brunet and threw it into the wall, then lashed out. The back of their claws slammed into the blond and sent it flying. It hit a stone brick column against the wall with a heavy _crack_ , then slid to the ground.

Turning, they snarled at their other attackers. “Watch out for the shadows, they can take you over!” One of them roared, another one of the pointy eared creatures with weird eyes and short dark brown hair. Flicking their tail, they took a step towards the winged brunet with bared teeth.

It took a few moments for any of them to realise what had happened.

Fire licked over their form and they reeled back, shrieking. Clawing at their face, they stumbled back and away, grabbing their horns. Wait, horns? _I don’t have those they were cut off—what—_ shaking their head—no, _his_ head—they dropped to the ground. Impulse scrambled away from him, and he looked up before dragging himself to his feet. The shadows were dripping off of him, and he shook his head.

“Tango, it’s okay.” Zedaph reassured where Keralis was helping him stay upright. One of his legs wasn’t pointing the right way. Dimly, Tango had a memory of throwing him around. _What happened?_ Looking down at the shadows dripping off his hand, Tango frowned. _Did Zedaph teleport?_ “Tango?” Looking up, he met Zedaph’s gaze for a brief moment.

Then, his vision was swarmed with darkness, and he had the dim sensation of falling before unconsciousness claimed him.

+++

Iskall, Grian, and Mumbo entered a large dungeon chamber (if they had been with the others, then it would have looked similar to the statue room. However, there was a distinct lack of statues).

Looking around, Mumbo frowned when the door shut behind them. “Honestly, I’m not even shocked.” Grian admitted with a sigh, running a hand over his face and then looking towards Iskall. They hadn’t spoken very much. If it was an effort to keep from fighting, Mumbo appreciated it. Really, he did. It was nice to not have to worry about them being at each other’s throats or beating the tar out of one another, but…Mumbo missed the easy banter of the first few weeks. Before…whatever it was happened. Scar probably wouldn’t talk about it.

Maybe Mumbo would have to.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get between two fighting people, but honestly? Mumbo was already a little sick of it. The first few days had been fine, sure, but everything after that had just gotten annoying. They avoided each other. He was too awkward to try and approach either of them, while Scar flitted between the groups perfectly well. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Scar or anythi…okay, maybe he was. Mumbo knew redstone, and mechanics, and everything else that came with being an artificer. People…he’d never been good with them. At all. Talking was just not his thing in the least, so he tried to keep it to a minimum. Of course, the Hermits generally didn’t let him hide away and keep to himself unless he wanted them to.

He cleared his throat, about to give the two a piece of his mind—ask them why they hadn’t made up, why they were letting something like this keep them from talking for so long, weren’t they sick of it—when something else happened.

Something slammed down on Iskall’s shoulders, sending him stumbling forwards. There was a flash of ruby red and a sapphire-cobalt blue, and Iskall let out a pained grunt as he was slammed into the wall. Grian fanned his wings out, shielding Mumbo from the person for a brief second before his wings suddenly dropped. Voice shaking, he spoke, “Tau— _Taurtis?”_

Three more shapes emerged from the shadows, and Mumbo reached for his dagger. On his shoulder, Jumbo let out a snarl and opened her mouth, little sparks of electricity sparking in her jaws. Each one of the statues appeared rather feminine, with some sort of cloth wrapped around their body, long hair spilling over their shoulders, and the sort of vibe Mumbo had gotten from his sisters a long time before. There was a blindfold tied around each of their heads, shielding their eyes. _“Judge.”_ The one holding what Mumbo was pretty sure was a set of scales ordered, and Grian and Mumbo shared a glance.

“Taurtis”, whoever he was, grabbed Iskall’s shoulder and flipped him, throwing him to the ground. There was a _crack_ as his shoulder met the ground, and Iskall cried out in pain. Red and blue eyes narrowed, and “Taurtis” looked up. Grian froze. “You’re not Taurtis.”

“He’s a construct.” Mumbo realised, and Grian glanced at him with wide eyes. Meanwhile, Construct Taurtis placed a foot on Iskall’s neck and pressed down. “Look, there’s a faint glow around him. Whatever this dungeon is…it made this for him. For us.”

Construct Taurtis pressed down on Iskall’s neck even more. The assassin grabbed at the construct’s ankle with both hands, choking and wheezing already. _“Why? How could you?”_ Iskall didn’t answer, probably because he was choking. Pressing more weight down, Taurtis yelled, “ _Tell me why!”_

“Stop, you’re killing him!” Mumbo took a step forwards, but Taurtis’ gaze snapped to him and he was frozen to the spot. When he glanced down, he could see why. Frost was spreading over the stone brick floor around them, swirling as small spikes of ice began to arc over his feet. Grian flapped his wings, took off the ground before flapping awkwardly to the side. “Grian, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Iskall let out another choking gasp, and the construct let up on the pressure for a split second. Taurtis’ heel pressed onto Iskall’s sternum, and there was another _crack_ as the bone broke. “I didn’t—I’m sorry. I was doing my job, I’m sorry.”

Taurtis’ eyes narrowed, and he began pressing down on Iskall’s chest again. “ _Not good enough._ _You need to pay. For everything. Everything you did to me, everything you did to them.”_ He pointed beyond Mumbo and Grian, where more of the constructs had appeared. Iskall’s green eye widened, and Mumbo swore he saw the assassin tearing up a little bit as his eyes darted over the people there. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were. Turning, Taurtis focused on Grian and Mumbo. _“You are judge. Choose. Is your friend innocent, or his he guilty?”_

_“He’s innocent.”_ Mumbo immediately replied, and Iskall’s eye widened a little more. Taurtis started crushing his chest again as Grian hesitated on his answer.

Finally, Grian spat out, “he’s innocent.” When he landed on the ground, he looked away, eyes narrowed. _He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t want to see Iskall die, but he doesn’t believe he’s innocent._

Taurtis blinked, and the people around Mumbo and Grian disappeared. Bending down, Taurtis jerked Iskall upright and threw him back. _“What do you think? Are you innocent?”_

Iskall didn’t look at either of them, hands rubbing his own arms like he was cold. Blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth again. “No. I’m not.” His eyes flicked up, and he met Taurtis’ gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

Taurtis looked at him, then turned to the other edge of the room and indicated where a door now stood open. “That door will take you to another chamber. Congratulations, you passed the test.” Turning, he walked back towards the way they had come. Mumbo noticed Grian stare after him almost longingly, then turn back to Iskall. A small—very, _very, infinitesimally_ , small—part of Mumbo hoped and prayed that maybe, just maybe, Grian would be checking on Iskall, would be making sure he was okay.

They weren’t that lucky.

“Taurtis was the Cy’Ratha you were chasing. The one that got you eaten by the fish.” Grian realised, standing above Iskall. The assassin looked up at him with a wide eye, the cybernetic one still sparking and offline. _Goat gamngit._ Mumbo swore, then paused as he realised maybe he’d been hanging out with Doc just a little too much lately. _Not even going to ask. Not the time._

Iskall swallowed nervously, looked to the door, and slowly got to his feet. As he did, he touched his chest with the arm that hadn’t had its shoulder smashed into the floor. _Great, he’s hurt again._ Turning, Mumbo went to dig through his bag for anything that might help. Bandages or a sling. _Why can’t it be me? Everyone else is getting hurt and I have no idea to help. This isn’t my forte!_

_Not the time, Mumbo. Focus on helping your friend. That’s the important thing._ He glanced up to see that Grian and Iskall were facing off again. _Come on, guys, please. For one minute. Can you not._

“He was.”

“So you’re part of the reason why the Cy’Ratha died so fast.” Laughing softly, Grian added, “I’m not even shocked.” He brushed by Iskall, slamming shoulders with him. Iskall’s eye narrowed and his jaw tightened. Walking over with bandages in hand, Mumbo paused by him.

“Mind if I—?” He paused, and Iskall glanced at him for a moment before nodding. The assassin flinched when Mumbo’s fingers started working off his sleeve. “Grian, wait up for us. We need you to get out of here and I don’t think Cub would be very happy if you left us behind. Besides, it’s better to stick together.”

“Then hurry up!” Grian shouted, and Mumbo glared after him for a second before turning back.

“You don’t have to do this.” Iskall whispered, and Mumbo glanced up to meet his gaze for a second.

“You’re my friend. I’d do it for you, and I’d do it for Grian. Even when he’s being a snarky banana peel.” Iskall smiled for a split second, then threw that steely mask of his back on and looked away. _He shouldn’t do that. Of course, I don’t think he should be flinching when I touch him, either._ Gently, Mumbo took a look at Iskall’s shoulder and got Jumbo to scan it for him. “Good news, it’s not broken.” Jumbo chirped and tapped something impatiently on Mumbo’s shoulder with her claw. “Your sternum is, though.”

“We’ll handle it once we get out.” Pressing a hand to his chest as Mumbo finished up wrapping his shoulder, Iskall smiled at Mumbo. “Thanks.” They walked into the corridor, where Grian was waiting. The Cy’Ratha rolled his eyes and started walking. “Look, Grian, I don’t care if you mistreat me. You can do that all you want, I’ve had worse. But it’d be nice if you didn’t attack Mumbo while doing it.”

_Here we go,_ Mumbo sighed. Running a hand over his face, he followed a few steps behind as Grian and Iskall started up _again. I’m starting to think maybe they shouldn’t be friends._

About three minutes of Grian and Iskall fighting again, Mumbo lost it.

_“Are you kidding me?”_

Iskall and Grian turned to look at Mumbo with wide eyes. On his shoulder, Jumbo nipped Mumbo’s ear as a warning he was losing his temper. He ignored her for once.

_“Seriously?_ You’re fighting _again?_ ” Running a hand into his hair, Mumbo growled, “Will you _quit it for **one goatforsaken minute?** I am losing my mind here!” _Both of them glanced at one another again, and Mumbo wheeled on Iskall, “okay, look, I get that what just happened was traumatic and it sucks, but pushing your friends is the worst thing to do. Sure, you might be shoving us away because you’re worried about getting us killed or whatever because being an assassin probably means that you’re afraid of ever having people get too close to you because they’ll be used against you. Maybe that’s already happened, judging by the way you reacted to all those constructs in there. But you need to trust us. We’ve made it through the chimera and Thylama and we’re going to face so much more before we finally find the Cursed Crown because that’s how these things worked. We signed on for this mission willingly, and we signed on to get to know the others whether we meant that to happen or not. Stop treating everyone like we’re made of glass, we’re not. We can handle…whatever it is that’s going on with you.”

Grian scoffed and looked away. When Mumbo wheeled on him, though, he didn’t seem to be so belligerent. “And _you!_ Come on, man! I can handle you freaking out one night when you had a nightmare. It was a stressful situation, and I can understand you wanting to go and get some alone time. Believe me, I know. But you punched Scar, got in a fistfight with Iskall, and then you’ve been snarking anyone who makes you upset lately. Maybe I’m overreacting, but maybe Cub was right and maybe you need to take a break from everyone else and the mission.” Grian’s eyes widened, and Mumbo held up a hand before he could continue. “Grian, you’re going to get people killed. You’re yelling at Iskall. I don’t know if you’ve noticed or if you know medical…stuff, I don’t care, but he’s _hurt_. Maybe his shoulder isn’t broken, but his sternum is. We can’t keep up this pace or he’s going to get hurt even more. Maybe he shouldn’t even be walking, I don’t know. I’m not a medical expert!” Throwing his hands in the air, Mumbo took a breath. This wasn’t helping, he needed to keep calm.

Actually, screw being calm.

“Mumbo—”

“No, Grian, you need to listen to me. I don’t understand what it must be like for you with the—with the Cy’Ratha, with Thylama. Your whole species has been decimated and that’s not okay. But you can’t treat everyone like—like we don’t matter if we make you mad. That’s just—it’s just cruel. Scar doesn’t deserve that, Stress and Etho don’t deserve that. Maybe Iskall does, but maybe there’s something going on that we don’t know about. I won’t justify his actions. Murder is horrible, and it’s an understatement. But I won’t excuse your actions when you’re mistreating people like Cub and Scar who care about you and don’t—and don’t deserve this kind of thing. And when we get out of here, if you want to, then you can go. I don’t—I really don’t care anymore. But I’m _sick_ of the fighting, I’m sick of _you two arguing all the time_. I’m not the only one. It’s stressful to watch you argue. So just…just _stop. Both of you, please.”_

Turning, he walked down the corridor as quickly as possible.

Both of them ran after him, and they all came to a new area.

This was yet another chamber, with what appeared to be an impassable door at the other side. Sending Jumbo over, Mumbo and the others waited in a tense silence for her to return. She did, a few moments later. “It needs a password. What’s with those urns?” He jerked his head to the side, indicating the urns over on the side of the wall. Each of them was a silvery grey tone with gold at the lip, bottom, and in the intricate patterns of every side. If Mumbo looked, he guessed it was some sort of…vine…leafy pattern. He was a redstone expert, not a pottery expert. Well, he supposed he was an expert with one part of pottery—breaking it. When he and his fiancée had met for the first time, he’d tripped over his own feet in his own house on the flat foyer surface he’d sprinted over hundreds of times and managed to break an antique vase. He supposed it’d worked out in the end—she was a sweet girl, he couldn’t wait to get back to her.

Looking at the vase, Mumbo frowned at the weird sense of homesickness that had washed over him.

Meanwhile, Iskall seemed to have figured out the puzzle. “The urns have souls in them. One of them has the password.” Walking over, he let his hand hover over the urn, then glanced back. A small smile crossed his face, “If I start attacking you…” he hesitated and then took a breath, steel mask returning, “then kill me.”

He rested his hand on the urn’s lid, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and lifted.

+++

The next room the Hermits came to, unfortunately, did not have Mumbo, Iskall, and Grian.

Bdubs had been praying that, by some chance, they might have had a single stroke of luck. Instead, they didn’t. They found two chains dangling from two holes in the walls on opposite sides of the room and a door that was heavily sealed shut. Tango and Doc were still pretty much out, although for different reasons. Python had checked in on their tiefling friend, said he was alright but exhausted. Studying the walls and chains, Bdubs mused there was maybe thirty feet of difference. _Still, thirty feet can be almost impossible to cross at times._ “Anyone know how to solve this?”

“Too bad we don’t have Mumbo here, he’d probably have this figured out by now.” Zedaph mused, lifting one of the chains and then immediately grunting as his face twisted in pain. Darting in, Impulse grabbed the chain from him, and they shared a glance before Zedaph let go. Impulse eased the chain to the ground, and Zedaph rubbed at his back. His leg was fine—splinted, currently, and he really should have been off of it, but they couldn’t just leave him behind.

“True. And then he’d have to ask Grian and Iskall to stop fighting.” Scar sighed, running a hand over his face. Around his shoulders, Jellie started licking at his ear and rubbing against his cheek. He rubbed her head absentmindedly, looked at everyone with a tired smile. “Hopefully they’re all okay.”

Silence for a moment. Laughing, Doc mused, “Grian, Iskall, and Mumbo? I don’t think Mumbo could die if he tried, Iskall is a trained assassin, and Grian survived the massacre of his people. Anyways, my guess is that you’ll have to pull the chains together in the middle of the room and seal them there somehow.”

Impulse touched his neck with a wince, and Bdubs smiled at him sympathetically when their gazes met. The young man had breathed fire earlier, right before the shadows released Tango. Ever since, he’d touched his throat a lot, winced, and then gone back to whatever he’d been doing. Mostly that was either carrying Tango or helping Zedaph walk. “So the obvious solution is to use fire.” Beef mused, running a hand over his beard as he thought. Then, he turned to Python, “Python, think you can breathe enough to seal these?”

Bending down, Python picked up one of the chains and looked it over, considering it for a moment. “Not on my own.” He rumbled, then looked to Impulse. “I could use some help.”

Stepping back, Impulse raised his hands and then rasped, “No, thank you.” Bdubs winced at the hoarse quality of his voice. Talking had to have hurt.

“Impulse, we won’t be able to get out of here otherwise.” False pointed out, and Impulse looked down at the stone tiles of the floor. His golden-yellow eyes didn’t even hide the fear there, and once he touched his neck again Bdubs had a small idea of what was going on. _He doesn’t want to lose his voice. I can’t imagine it’s very nice to breathe fire. I didn’t even know he could._

Chillingly, he realised, _maybe he didn’t know either._

Zedaph touched Impulse’s shoulder and shot False a dark look. “ _Your Highness,”_ her nose wrinkled in distaste at that, “Impulse doesn’t have to do anything he’s not comfortable with. Besides, why can’t you summon your own fire? Aren’t paladins capable of using holy magic or whatever?”

“It’s not like that. I can heal people, I can’t summon _fire.”_

Scar held up his hands. “Please don’t try to have me summon fireball, I’m more likely to set _us_ on fire than the chain. And that’s if we’re lucky.”

At the edge of the room, Wels studied his hands with narrowed eyes. Whatever he was thinking of, Bdubs had no idea, but Ren and Cleo went over to him and the former said something softly. Wels glanced up and then shrugged, replied, but whatever it was, it was too quiet for anyone but the three of them to hear. As quickly as it had happened, it stopped.

False looked at Impulse and opened her mouth to say something, but TFC touched her arm and shook his head. Looking at him, she turned and stared at the ground, crossing her arms. “We do have to consider the idea, Zedaph. We may not have a choice.” Joe mused. “I don’t like it, but False does have a point.”

Zedaph moved between Impulse and everyone else, and Bdubs walked over to stand by him. “I’m not letting you use Impulse. We don’t know what this might do to him. Would you prefer he never talk again?” Hypno’s eyes narrowed, and he walked over to Zedaph and Bdubs. “If Tango were conscious right now, he’d agree with me.”

Whether the Hermits meant it or not, they had been split down the middle of the room, Zedaph on one side and False and the other.

“I say we put it to a vote.” Biffa said, and Zedaph focused a violet glare on him.

“This isn’t something you vote over, _Fireforge._ ”

“It’s not that serious, Zed—” Impulse began, and Zedaph turned to look at him with wide eyes.

“Impulse, it’s not this. Well, it is.” Leaning close and dropping his voice a bit more, Zedaph continued, “What happens next? What happens when they decide that your firebreathing is more useful than you are? I don’t want them hurting you.” Impulse swallowed, then looked away, and Hypno touched his arm.

“So we vote. Whoever thinks Impulse should use his firebreathing, stay on this side.” False spat out, and Zedaph glared at her again. “Whoever doesn’t, go to that side.”

Most of them seemed to debate it for a moment. Whether it was because they didn’t want to make False mad or they actually believed that Impulse needed to use his firebreathing whether it hurt him or not, Bdubs wasn’t sure. Still, Wels, Cleo, and Ren hardly hesitated before striding over to join Bdubs, Zedaph, and Impulse. Etho and Stress glanced over at each other and then cast their vote, Etho carrying Side Kit. “I’m with Zedaph.” Doc voiced, and Scar started walking over for a few moments. 

Keralis pulled Xisuma off to the side for a quick conversation and then pulled them over to False’s side. Jevin stayed where he was with TFC, although he didn’t seem too comfortable. Meanwhile, Beef, Biffa, and xB had no qualms about walking over immediately. Python stood awkwardly in the middle. Meanwhile, Cub looked exceptionally torn as he stood in the middle, glancing between everyone. Impulse stared at the ground, sucking in a few nervous breaths.

“Either way, we win.” Zedaph pointed out, eyes narrowed. His hand went to his rapier’s hilt, “I’m not scared to fight.”

“Stop it!” Impulse suddenly shouted, and everyone looked at him. Worry crossed Zedaph’s face. Looking a little pained and very desperate, Impulse forced out, “I’ll do it.”

“Imp—”

“No, Zed. I’ll be fine.” Impulse glanced between everyone, swallowed nervously. “I’ll do it.”

“Alright.” Clapping his hands together, Cub mused, “Let’s get these chains sealed together. Python, come talk with me for a moment? Everyone else, split into a group of ten on each side.” Everyone stayed where they were, still clearly at odds, and Cub and Python spoke quietly for a few moments. While Zedaph asked Impulse if he was sure he wanted to do this, Bdubs listened to the group. They were close enough that he could, and he’d always had sharp ears for whatever reason (even for a human; some of his old travel companions joked that maybe he was something else entirely).

“What is it, Caden?” Python asked, and Bdubs paused for a second. _His real name? How does Python know that?_ A small chill ran through him at the realisation that maybe, just maybe, Python knew more about the Hermits than any of the others did.

Leaning close, Cub kept his voice low. It didn’t hide the danger in his tone, or the way his hand was resting on the hilt of his longsword. “You’re responsible for Impulse. I won’t blame False or the others for this—they’re all fairly young—but I saw your stats on the roster. You don’t get to be a Tier 8 Life Domain Cleric without _years_ of study and experience, and your scales are faded in a few areas. You’re older than I am, maybe older than most everyone here. So if he gets hurt,” eyes narrowing, he continued, “Zedaph and Tango will be the least of your worries.”

Python looked down at Cub. “I would expect no less of the Champion of Y’mard.” Cub frowned, then straightened up. His hand left his sword and Bdubs let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

Sitting back on his heels, Cub turned and raised his voice. “Alright, everyone, let’s get this door open. Doc, what do we need to do?”

“Pull the chains together in the middle. Ten people on each side should probably work. If not…” Doc shrugged and tilted his head to the side, and Cub nodded before walking over to TFC where he stood close to one of the chains. Python joined him.

“Alright, let’s work together.” Cub said, and Bdubs glanced at the others. Impulse was focused on something else, and he reached over to touch the young man’s arm. Golden eyes darted to his, and Bdubs smiled reassuringly. Nodding, Impulse turned back.

They did manage to move the chains. They were so close to getting them in the middle. The door was beginning to rise. For the first time since they stepped into the goatforsaken dungeon, they were actually having a good time.

Then, Side Kit started running for the door.

“Side Kit, no!” Etho shouted, darting forwards. As soon as he left, the weight of the chain Bdubs and the others were holding started to slip.

“Etho, get back here!” Stress shouted, and Etho jumped forwards as a fox and grabbed Side Kit by the scruff, backpedalling as the door slammed shut. “ETHO!”

Panting, Etho trotted back to Doc and Tango. He shifted back to a human, holding Side Kit. Blood dripped from his nails down to the floor, and he quickly wrapped Side Kit in a scarf until she resembled a burrito. Albeit a very angry, chirping burrito, but a burrito nonetheless. Tango stirred, and Etho tucked Side Kit (Burrito Kit?) next to the tiefling. “Mind watching her?”

Scar said something to Jellie, who trotted over and curled up beside Tango and Side Kit. Even from a distance, Bdubs could hear her purring softly. Meanwhile, Etho went back to the chain and grabbed on. “You alright, Etho?” Bdubs asked, nodding at his hands. Eyes darting down and narrowing, Etho nodded once.

They did manage to drag the chains together. Python grabbed both, held them together, and Impulse slid over carefully. There was some slight conversation, and then the pair sealed the chains together. The door froze in an upright position, but everyone hesitated after dropping the chains. Since the seal didn’t break, they had to assume it was safe. “That was awesome, Impulse!” Tango stumbled over and clapped a hand down on Impulse’s shoulder. Smiling, Impulse opened his mouth and tried to reply. All that came out was a raspy sound, and Tango’s face flitted from eager to confused and then concerned. Impulse blinked a few times, clearly in some form of shock, and Zedaph gently went over and touched his shoulder. Bdubs watched the group and glanced at Cub, who was staring at the scene with narrowed eyes.

Walking over to Impulse, he gently touched the young man’s shoulder, and their eyes met for a brief moment, and all Bdubs could think of doing was hope and pray that they hadn’t just made a grave mistake.

+++

Mumbo didn’t actually remember what happened with the soul urns and the password door.

One moment, Iskall was setting his hand on the urn and opening it. The next, Mumbo was suddenly on the ground, his nose was bleeding, and Iskall was helping him up. Grian was standing at the now-open doorway, eyes narrowed. “What—what happened?” He asked, and Iskall shrugged.

“Not really sure. I’m blanking on it.” As he stumbled to the side, Iskall caught him, then guided him towards Grian. “How you doin’, Gri?”

Grian flinched like Iskall had hit him. Then, the Cy’Ratha glared at him. “Don’t call me that. Not now, not ever.” Blinking, Iskall nodded and then leaned back with a slightly shocked look. Turning away, Grian began walking away down the corridor.

Which was when they got attacked.

Mumbo didn’t realise what was going at first. He was walking, then he was flying through the air, then the ground was rushing up to meet his face, and then he was skidding across the ground like his buddy Lucan did when they were little and it had snowed. Lucan had fallen off his sled and gone sliding in the snow for a good thirty or forty feet before colliding with one of the trees. He wasn’t hurt, thankfully. However, Mumbo had no such luxury…and judging by the pained grunts and yelps from Iskall and Grian behind him, whatever it was that attacked him was attacking them, too.

Gasping, he surged upright and sat up, looking around. Some sort of shadowy monster that blocked out all of the light from the torch on the ground. Lightning flashed and sparked, and the monster surged forwards and grabbed Iskall, flipping him to the side. With a yell, he did a partial flip, landed on his palm, and then sprang in for an attack. Snapping forwards, the beast locked its jaws around his injured shoulder. “Iskall!” Mumbo dragged himself upright, shot his crossbow in. The bolt shot right through. Instead of causing any damage, it slammed into the wall.

“ _Mumbo, careful!”_ Grian hissed, eyeing the bolt where it had lodged a quarter of an inch from where his eye had been a second before. The dragon swung at Grian, claws hooking around his neck. It slammed him into the brick wall. Terrifyingly, Mumbo watched as Grian’s eyes dulled and he dropped to the ground, disappearing in a cloud of shadows.

_“Grian!”_ Mumbo sprinted for where the Cy’Ratha had last been. When he glanced over, he saw the beast rear up and smash Iskall’s head into the ground. “Stop it! Leave him alone!” Iskall did the same thing, and Mumbo shot off another bolt.

The monster turned and focused its gaze on him.

Cursing internally, Mumbo turned to run away. The door had sealed shut, and he slammed his shoulder against it when he turned. A nasty _crack_ echoed through the chamber. _Ow._ Turning, he met the bright, glowing gaze of the dragon as it approached, smoke pouring from its mouth. A sickly sweet, tart taste, like the blue raspberry candies he always traded away for something else from his brothers, filled his mouth and he pressed against the door even more. The smoke filled his lungs, and briefly he realised _oh, I can’t breathe_ as his vision started to dim. _Poison. It’s poison smoke._

Gasping and shaking, he slid down the door to the floor, and the last thing he saw were the shadow dragon’s claws slashing at his face.

There was an odd _fwoosh_ noise, and then someone was shaking him. “Mumbo? Mumbo, are you alright?” Sucking in a breath, Mumbo opened his eyes and found Cub leaning over him, gently touching his face. The blue raspberry taste still lingered in the back of his mouth, and he reached for his bag as Cub helped him sit up. “You alright?”

“Fine. I think. Ho—how are Grian and Iskall?” Looking around, Mumbo saw Doc tending to Iskall’s shoulder whilst False attended to Grian. TFC stood behind her and watched over what she was doing. Impulse, Zedaph, Tango, and Bdubs were studying Jumbo, who was currently playing with Jellie.

“They’re alright.” Flexing his shoulder, Mumbo frowned and looked down. There wasn’t even a bruise. _What happened?_ “Alright, Brotherhood. Let’s get you up on your feet.” Cub helped Mumbo up, and then called for everyone’s attention. “Alright, we have to move. Let’s head down that corridor, I have a feeling it’s the way out.”

They were a few seconds in when Bdubs suddenly stopped. Clinging to Hypno’s back, Doc yelled up, “What is it _now_?” Scar frowned and walked in front of Bdubs, blocking him from Impulse’s view. The Three Idiots all slipped closer to try and get a better look. When Impulse _did_ get a look…he kind of regretted it. Not checking in on his friend, he would never regret that.

He also probably would never be able to get Bdubs’ expression out of his mind.

The prophet’s face had gone entirely slack, and his eyes had changed. Instead of their normal energetic dark brown, they were…well, it almost like they were gone. They were glowing a blindingly bright, purple-tinged white tone. Blinking once, Bdubs took in a shuddery breath. And then he started talking…and that wasn’t a voice. There was an odd reverb, his voice underlaid one decidedly more feminine. 

“ _Hello, dear travellers.”_ Next to Impulse, Zedaph went stiff. Eyes widening, Scar gestured for Cub to walk over. The fighter did, and Bdubs’ head turned to him. “ _Caden Black, son of Ivan Black of Y’mard, Amaranth. I have seen you before.”_

Frowning, Cub asked, “Who are you?” Bdubs blinked a few times. Blood started dripping from his ears and nose, from the corners of his mouth. When he blinked again, actually, a little trickled from his eyes like tears. Tango made a gagging sound and stepped away. Impulse couldn’t take his eyes off of Bdubs, it was like seeing a horse crash into a fence at full speed with a rider. For whatever reason, he just couldn’t look away.

_“I am the Void Queen. Zelonnia.”_ A chill settled across everyone at the name. _“You have come for the Key, and you are almost to the vault. You should be proud of that achievement. However…”_

“However?” Cub echoed after a moment. Bdubs shuddered once, coughing a little more blood out. _Is this killing him?_ Impulse suddenly wondered, reaching for him and touching his arm. The prophet shivered again, shoulders and chest rattling.

_“You may not like what you find.”_

Bdubs looked to Zedaph almost oddly, tilted his head. He blinked again, just a few times. Then, just as suddenly as Zelonnia had taken control, he dropped to the ground. Swearing, Cub caught him and eased him to the ground, where Bdubs started coughing rapidly and sucking in breaths. “Hey, hey, you’re alright. You’re alright. I don’t know what that was, but you seem to be fine now. Anything hurt?” Cub quickly reassured, and Bdubs looked around with wide eyes. A few moments passed, and then he relaxed. “That wasn’t a vision, was it?” Bdubs ran a hand up and over his face, both hands grabbing at his hair after a moment. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I _hate_ when that happens.” Bdubs groaned, tapping his foot against the brick wall. They spent a few moments still, until Bdubs finally took a breath, fought upright, and then wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Reaching down, Cub and Scar helped him upright, Cub rubbing his back sympathetically. “I’ll be fine, might need someone to help me walk.”

Scar offered his staff, and Bdubs and Cub glanced at him.

“Not you, Scar. Keep that, might need it for something else.” Cub replied, picking Bdubs up like he weighed nothing. Yelping, Bdubs flailed for a moment and then grinned sheepishly, sending a thumbs-up to Impulse. “If we need to fight, I might end up throwing you.”

“I’ve been eaten by a fish, I’ll be fine.”

They started down the corridor again, and Impulse sighed with relief that that hadn’t been something worse.

Then Grian and Iskall started fighting again, and Impulse was kind of glad he couldn’t talk because if he screamed in frustration, no one noticed.

+++

Grian and Iskall were still fighting.

From Mumbo’s expression, this wasn’t the first argument they’d had that day. Taking a breath, the wood elf kept his voice low while talking with TFC, False, Keralis, and Xisuma. Cub had an expression that Impulse would only describe as a “murder face”. _I wonder what rank he was in the military._ Impulse mused, glancing at him. The fighter seemed to be holding back everything he had in him. Maybe it was because he was still carrying Bdubs, who had progressively become more and more exhausted until he finally passed out. _I know passing out isn’t fun…but I kind of wish that was me right now,_ Impulse sighed, running a hand up and into his hair.

Everyone else was being affected, too. Mostly, it was just general frustration and silence, like in the case of Jevin and Joe and some of the other people who had dealt with complaining or fighting or children on a near daily basis. Meanwhile, Tango’s tail was twitching pretty much every few seconds, wrapping around his leg, or Zedaph’s arm, or Impulse’s arm. Every so often it’d just start lashing. Wels kept doing this weird little head-toss like he was a wolf trying to intimidate another pack member. Ren suddenly growled at him, and Wels shot him a look like he was about to growl back. Before he could, Ren took a breath and held up his hands, then gently touched Wels’ shoulders. Both of them looked grateful.

Meanwhile, Grian and Iskall kept fighting.

Impulse didn’t even recognise the language. For all he knew, they could be just shouting off their shopping lists rather aggressively at each other. Maybe they were actually fighting, maybe they weren’t. Their body language supported the first option. _At least they’re not throwing punches again…_ Impulse glanced between the two as Zedaph started aggressively polishing his ocarina beside him. _Though they seem pretty close to it._

It kept heating up as they reached a darker room, and some of the others pulled out torches to light the way.

Impulse prayed to anyone who might be listening that Iskall and Grian wouldn’t make some dumb mistake. Of course, there was a difference between a dumb mistake and a stupid one. Apparently. Impulse hadn’t known this.

Iskall and Grian decided to show it, for whatever goatforsaken reason.

All of a sudden, Iskall got right up in Grian’s face, eyes narrowed. If Impulse had to guess, he’d suddenly switched back to Common just to make the point hit harder, so the others would understand what he was saying, too. Pretty mean, but probably effective. “You’re weak, Grian. That is not my fault.” As Impulse watched, Grian’s shoulders stiffened as the pair stared each other. _Come on, guys, just get it over with. This is getting old._ Then, Grian moved.

Gasping, Cleo shouted, “Grian, _no!”_ Grian’s fist froze in midair. Everyone stared at the scene in front of them in shock.

There was an arrow in Grian’s hand, a fraction of an inch from driving through Iskall’s cybernetic eye.

Snapping it in half with a squeeze of his fingers, Grian threw the arrow to the stone tiles beneath their feet. “When _your_ guild attacked _my_ home, you want to know what they did?” Getting in Iskall’s face, Grian kissed, “ _They—killed— **everyone.**_ Everyone but me, because they wanted me to send a message. So they broke my wings, and then they shoved me under a collapsing building. I was _thirteen_ , and I spent two days there until I dragged myself out of the rubble and staggered to the next town. _Never—_ ” shoulders shaking, Grian snarled, “ _never_ tell me I’m _weak._ ”

Turning, he stalked into the shadows.

+++

“This better be the last puzzle.”

Doc had said what literally all of them had been thinking as they stood in front of the room. Even clinging to Hypno’s back like some sort of robotic koala, legs hanging in front of him, he seemed just as indignant and intimidating as he did…well, kind of adorable. If Scar were being completely honest with himself, it was pretty odd seeing the Cryor cyborg doing something that seemed like something only a kid would do.

Turning, Scar looked out over the puzzle in front of them.

That’s what it was. Just like the other rooms, this was still a puzzle just like anything else that could have been thrown in front of them. Sure, it wasn’t anything like a giant game of chess, or something where they had to move and push and pull something, or even something as simple as finding a key or a needle in a haystack. Instead, it was a room filled with flora. Apple and orange and peach trees were planted every few feet, with beautiful maples and conifers in between. Although nothing really happened to the evergreens, the other trees all rapidly went through what seemed to be… “Is time sped up in there?” Scar finally asked, walking to the edge of the room and trying to peer in. There was a clear divide between the room they were in and then the chamber where time didn’t seem to matter as much. A thin, purply veil split the doorway, and he pressed against it just a bit.

A hand on the back of his coat yanked him back. Laughing, he met Cub’s gaze and rubbed the back of his neck. “Try not to get overeager. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Cub said softly, glancing at Impulse, then Doc and Tango. _Anyone_ else _getting hurt, that is. Especially with whatever that was with Bdubs before we walked into this corridor,_ Scar realised, blinking a few times.

A minute passed, and the trees had practically gone through all of the seasons. “I’d ask if that were even possible, but…I guess it is.” Jevin mused, rubbing the back of his neck and frowning in concern.

Side Kit decided to cause more chaos, jumping out of Stress’ arms and into the room before she or Etho could stop the little fox. “Not again!” Etho swore, darting forwards. Side Kit looked back, slate-grey eyes fading to a dark brown as her legs and muzzle started to lengthen and point. The speckles on her fur practically disappeared, shedding, and Etho reached in and grabbed her by the scruff. Yanking her back, he tapped her on the snout. “Stop running off, you’re going to get hurt.”

Yipping, Side Kit bit Etho’s wrist. Either she’d done it before or he genuinely didn’t care, but he shoved her into his jacket and then shifted so her head was poking out from his collar. Apparently satisfied, Side Kit _finally_ settled down. Cub ran a hand over his face. “So, now that _that_ ordeal is over,” Ren began, and everyone turned to look at him. “Who should go to turn it off? There’s a lever on the other side of the wall.”

“Hold on,” Beef jumped in, frowning in concern, “do we even know what that lever is going to do?”

TFC stepped in, clearing his throat. Once everyone had turned to the grey-haired elf, he spoke, “It’ll turn off the magic field causing the time disruption. This dungeon likely isn’t made to be impossible, but whoever would be getting to whatever is on the other side of the room, to what it’s protecting, probably isn’t affected by the field at all. It shouldn’t matter to them, or they may have another entrance. But I can’t imagine why they would try to trap it here. Everything else was made to take us out already.”

“But what if they have countermeasures for that kind of thing?” Joe offered, and TFC, Cub, and Beef all looked to him. Ren paused and exchanged a glance with Cleo. “If we’re sending anyone across, it should be someone strong, who won’t be affected by the magic field, and someone with a longer lifespan.”

“That crosses out Python, the humans, and anyone on the younger side. Tango, Impulse, Doc, Jevin, and the werekind as well.” When Etho and Ren moved to protest, Cub retorted, “I don’t know how your lifespans work, but I don’t feel like risking it. Doc is having a hard time moving, and we don’t know what could happen to Jevin or Impulse. Zedaph, you’re a half-elf so I don’t want you going, either.”

“What?” Zedaph frowned, and then Impulse touched his shoulder. Glancing back, Zedaph frowned, mouth thinning, and stared down at the ground. “Okay, fine. Fine, I won’t do anything.”

“Cy’Ratha live as long as elves. I could go.” Grian offered, and Cub looked him up and down for a moment.

“Not a chance, Grian.” Waving a hand, Cub added, “TFC, Ren, Joe, Keralis, Python, Biffa, Beef, and xB, I want to talk with all of you. Everyone else, you’re not going unless told otherwise. If any of you make a stupid decision,” there was a dangerous light to his eyes, although not in a bad way. More like the way when it was a dad talking to his kid who really didn’t feel like getting in trouble, “then you’ll be treated like a kid. Iskall and Grian _especially_ are not going.” The nine of them went off to talk in the corner, where they could keep an eye on everything. Meanwhile, there was more debate between everyone else about presenting arguments for who should go.

Scar frowned when he saw the expression on Xisuma’s face. The young sorcerer had allowed their helmet visor to go transparent, allowing him a look at their face. Narrowed eyes darted over the ground for a few moments. Then, an idea seemed to hit them. “I could go.”

Silence settled over the room, and Cub and the adults (well, they weren’t the _only_ adults, but Scar rather liked not having to make all the decisions for everyone. He wasn’t made for that kind of thing, and his heart couldn’t take the stress it already had) turned to look. “Xisuma—” Cub began. Reaching up, Keralis touched the fighter’s shoulder, and they exchanged a glance.

Stepping forwards, Keralis asked, “Xisuma, are you sure? This is a pretty big task to ask of you.” The words were loaded. Whatever they were loaded _with_ , Scar didn’t know exactly. He just knew they carried a lot of weight, maybe more than anyone else in the room would possibly understand.

Nodding, Xisuma said, “I just have to get across the room and pull the lever, and then it’ll stop, right? That’s pretty easy.” From the way their voice sounded, Scar was pretty sure they were smiling when they added, “I used to sprint a lot further than that in a lot shorter time.”

Keralis’ eyes softened all of a sudden, and he smiled at them. “Alright, Xisuma. I trust you’re smart enough to turn back when you need to, though.” There was a slightly odd tone to the words, and Xisuma nodded before turning their visor opaque again.

They walked over to the door, waited until the trees had just gone through the harvest, and then stepped through.

Nothing happened for a few moments, and Xisuma immediately started sprinting. They weren’t that fast, but they certainly made it across before winter had even started. They didn’t even seem to be affected by anything, simply glancing around a few times and running a hand along the trunk of one of the evergreens before shutting the field off. It died with an odd noise, and Keralis hesitantly stepped in. There was a minute where they watched the trees and Keralis, waiting for any kind of movement.

Then, Keralis turned back and nodded, and everyone crossed.

“That should be the final puzzle.” Python offered, and Doc groaned.

“It better be. Otherwise,” punching his palm, Doc threatened, “I’m going to find whoever made this dungeon and they are going to _regret_ ever doing this to us.”

Chuckling, Cub reached up and ruffled the Cryor’s hair. Hissing, Doc leaned away with a wrinkled nose. “Well, _someone’s_ sarcasm is back online, I see.” The fighter teased, a fondness to his gaze. Scar rolled his eyes and turned to the door. Shouldering it open, he found himself surrounded by darkness.

The room inside was pretty much empty. In the middle, there was a stone podium with runes carved around it. Curled with its head raised, but eyes dull, was the statue of a dragon. Its tail wrapped in a crescent a few feet away from the podium and it looked towards the door.

“No.” Python whispered, walking out to the dragon and pressing a hand against its shoulder. Looking up with wide eyes, he whispered, “this wasn’t meant to happen.”

“This must have been the thing the…Void Queen? Was that her name?” Cub looked to Bdubs, and so did Scar. The prophet shuddered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, and Zedaph and Tango touched his shoulders. Impulse’s yellow tail touched Bdubs’ ankle. “This must have been the thing she was warning us about.”

There was a low growl, and the dragon blinked. Stone ground on stone, an ugly and grating sound, as it tilted its head to the side. Looking down at them curiously, it opened its maw and allowed pale lavender clouds to pour from its open jaws. Scar had a brief moment of, _oh come on, again?_ And then a, _that can’t be good_ , before he passed out.

When he opened his eyes, there was warm sunlight on his face, Jellie on his chest licking his cheek, and a small breeze playing with his hair. “Don’t tell me we have to start over!” Doc complained, kicking a rock with a metallic _clang_ and then shouting in another language. Apparently, the kick probably hurt him more than it hurt the rock. Slowly, Scar straightened up and did a head count. They were all there, and none of them appeared to be too hurt.

Sighing, TFC hauled himself upright and then helped False to her feet. The elven princess brushed herself off. “Well, it appears it may be time for us to head back to town. I believe we need some time to rest, recuperate, and relax.”

And so, the Hermits decided to head back down the Skyfire Summit, empty-handed…

(except, little did they know, there was a bit more going on than they knew. But of course, they didn’t know that yet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fav scenes to write for this whole story was the arrow grab (it was also one of the first scenes written). Also, before you take me too seriously as an author, know that I literally only figured out where this story was going to go linearly December 1 (the time when the last chapter was posted because Ao3 and I have to be on different time zones somehow), I didn’t even beta the first three books I published other than a basic Spellcheck and even *that* didn’t work. Also, even though two of those books are in the same series, they were originally in different fonts (I went and overhauled the editing and the first thing I did was fix my fonts to the second one, which actually revealed that I had a good hundred or so more pages than I thought).   
> I also finally heard Hypno’s voice for the first time in Grian’s S7E55 so let me tell you that was a bit of a trip to hear but cool nonetheless. If any of you were wondering why Hypno was mute, I saw it both as an excuse to include ASL in the world and also an excuse to keep from accidentally making Hypno OoC. And it’s also a none-too-clever reference to the whole “monk silent vow” thing. But his is…for other reasons.   
> Sorry that this writing may not be up to level with the others, it started dragging along eventually and then I had a really long and bad week. I swear I’m trying to get this thing back on a normal track but honestly things have been weird. You might get the next chapter next Monday, you might get it earlier. Eventually we’ll get back onto the normal routine I had so long ago (aka like two weeks ago) but honestly I don’t know when that’ll be or how long it’ll last.   
> Small celebration, though! This story has officially hit over three hundred pages with the finishing of this chapter and the outlines.   
> Anyways, whatever the heck that was aside, I hope you have a lovely day. Thank you for reading, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing and wonderful. I hope you have a wonderful day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	19. XVIII: Three Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way back from the Skyfire Summit, Xisuma starts getting sick. Zedaph talks about his past. There’s a snowball fight.  
> Before all that, Cub has a nightmare about his family and talks to Joe, Bdubs, and TFC about the same thing, which reveals quite a bit about them all. Meanwhile, Impulse realises that someone else has been stalking the Hermits—the same person who saves them in the Skyfire Summit. When he catches a glimpse of them, he heads after them.  
> He does not find what he expects in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY LONG NOTE HERE, FEEL FREE TO SKIP. TWs for food mentions in this chapter.  
> The day(s) I wrote this note? Weird. I got misgendered by accident, confused a classmate, and then had to bring up some trauma when pointing out that I forgave the person who misgendered me because he didn’t actually mean it (I didn’t say that it didn’t matter, but he seems like he’s a fine guy and it was kind of funny, he was just confused because my nickname is a “girl’s name” from his experience. Ironically, never met a girl who went by that name).  
> Also, I’ve started overhauling the editing of two of my first published books and I found out that the first one is actually four hundred pages when it’s in the series’ actual font (Bookman Old Style) instead of the original one (Times New Roman). Haha whoo. If I left it in Comic Sans they’d be much longer, or if they were in the size of my handwriting. But they’re not b/c that’d be terrifying.  
> Also, all stupid sleep-deprived behaviour is slightly based off of the youth trips I’ve gone on. Like, seriously, the amount of Mafia games I’ve watched unfold where the two redheads of the group got the Mafia role for six games in a row (which is where the term “honorary redhead” came from in our group) and then the time when the sheriff, medic, and Mafia were the only ones alive because they were Tweedle Dee, Tweedle Dum, and Tweedle Stupid…there’s a lot that’s gone on. We couldn’t go back out to the Navajo reservation this year because of COVID, but my parents had to travel and brought a lot of supplies with them so they could help out (long story, family drama that I wasn’t allowed to take part in and all necessary precautions were taken). Now, some things are a little different, but obviously I couldn’t fit in stacking 24 people into a 12-person van (that was fun; also legal as we were on private roads and this was probably the year I ended up with the panic attack so bad I was basically crawling through the dirt, very traumatising but compared to some of the other stuff I’ve gone through that was a controlled situation), or riding along in the back of one of the most beat-up blue pickups I have ever seen on a bumpy mountain road in the Sierra Nevadas with the moon shining overhead.  
> Anyways, if you’ve ever wondered why some of my descriptions are really, oddly specific, I used to go on four specific trips every year since sixth grade, which is how I have a) cut myself on a tire trying to look at kittens, b) got a hot chocolate and used “Voldemort” so the cashier said “He Who Must Not Be Named” and it was one of the most gender-euphoric experiences I’d ever had, c) built this tiny little snowman, d) threw tires around in over a hundred degree weather because we were using them to build an eco-friendly house or something, e) spent 5-6 days sleeping on the floor of a run-down building, the mess hall of our group’s current place because the old one was falling apart, and then the floor of the school we once took showers at, among other things. So…yeah. Those sky descriptions, starry nights, the smell of the mountains and all the like is stuff I’ve actually seen and did my best to describe here. Since I’m graduating this year, and I may never be able to see these places again or even come back to the place where I started those trips, I want to put them somewhere other people can maybe get an image of them as well.  
> Just a note, there are food mentions later in the chapter, as well as some mild gore! A few scenes had to be shuffled to next chapter because I wanted to get this out to you guys since it’s cute.  
> Thanks, and anyways, let’s jump right into this chapter! It’s a fun, fluffy one!

To say the group was a bit downtrodden was a bit of an understatement.

Skizzle watched in concern from the trees, keeping his eyes on Impulse. The man hadn’t said anything, and Doc had been prodding at his throat earlier. _Almost like he got hurt._ Frowning, Skizzle moved as quickly as he could to stay with the group, but also just out of their sightlines. He didn’t want to freak them out, after all, and he knew that they’d seen him a couple times before. Besides, however much he wanted to just run up and throw his arms around Impulse again, he couldn’t. The World Maker hadn’t told him it was okay to show himself, and he knew all too well what the consequences could be when things didn’t happen in the right order (for instance, what had happened to poor Cleo and the rest of the clerics in Mora Phós. Whatever drove this force was cruel and capricious, uncaring. If they went against it…well, Skizzle dreaded what might happen _then_ ).

Leaning against the trunk of yet another conifer, Skizzle watched as they paused and began to set up. He was so close to flying down, offering his help and introducing himself. Or, in Impulse’s case, _re_ introducing himself. _Did he forget me? Has he forgotten everyone else? Or am I just freaking about nothing?_

Skizzle settled down on the branch, glanced at the dusk-dusted sky, and decided it was a good time to begin setting up camp. A dove flew through the sky, white feathers glinting like small shards of opals. Pulling out his bow, Skizzle aimed and fired, dropping the bird with a single arrow through the eye. _Not today,_ King of Doves. _You’re not touching my friends. I hope you choke on your soup._

Settling back down, he took a breath, smiled at his friend and his friend’s friends, and then watched them eat and settle down themselves. He would keep watch for them, even if he wasn’t allowed to see them face-to-face.

He would keep watch for them for the rest of his life if he had to.

+++

_“Dad!”_

 _Cub raced through the broken streets of Y’mard, looking around for his wife and kids. “Amelia! Vance! Joy! I’m here!” Turning, he looked around in a panic, chest heaving_. I wasn’t gone that long. Was I? Where are they? _He never should have left. He should have known better._

This is your fault.

 _It was too quiet in Y’mard. What had happened? Where was everyone? “Hello?” He roared, looking around and then running towards his house. The familiar cobble streets were burnt and scorched._ What could have caused this? _Looking around, he froze in front of his house._ No. No, no, no, no please Am _elia!” The words changed from simple thoughts to pouring from his mouth as he ran to the house. Dropping to his knees, he skidded in the dirt and touched her shoulder, shaking her slightly. Tears pricked his eyes. "Amelia. Am—Amy, please. Please, not like this. Not here.” Her eyes stared somewhere past him, wide and terrified but dark all the same. A sudden sob shook his shoulders and he brushed her hair out of her face. “Amy. Please. Wake up.” Heat ran down his face and he slowly pulled her into his arms, breath rattling through his chest._

You should have been here.

_There was a laugh, and Cub opened his eyes. All of a sudden, he was somewhere else entirely. Fog wreathed around them, and there was hard-packed golden desert sand beneath his feet. Striding from the shadows, a man in armour tilted his head to the side. “Hello, Caden Black.”_

_“Gideon.”_

_Gideon scoffed, holding a sword in hand. Cub gently rested Amelia on the ground, closed her eyes and then stepped over her. Reaching back, he unsheathed his longsword and raised his head. “Aw, does the little lion think that he can get away again? I knew I should have killed you the very first time we met eyes.”_

_“Where are my kids?”_

_Smiling, Gideon looked around. “Oh, here…there…pieces of them, of course.” Something in Cub’s chest broke, and he growled. Gideon’s eyes met his, and the man’s sword flashed in the moonlight darting between the broken clouds of fog above their heads. “Oh. Does someone think he can actually defeat me?”_

_“I’m going to kill you.” Cub threatened, brandishing his sword. Gideon tilted his head to the side._

_“I dare you to try.”_

_Cub leapt for him, and Gideon ducked to the side. There was a flash of steel and Cub blocked, straightening up and putting as much pressure as he could against the grinding blades. Gideon’s cold gaze met his, and he ducked down an swept his leg under the other man’s. Knocking him to the ground, Cub lunged again. Gideon rolled back, got on his feet._ Damnit! _Dodging to the side, Cub cut in an arc, and Gideon leapt back. “Too scared to fight me?” He asked, panting, and Gideon’s eyes narrowed._

 _“I’m not the one you need to worry about.” A shadow fell on Cub, and he whipped around to see a bear rising above him. It was a massive beast, with a greyed snout. Scars wrapped over its head, across its chest, and its eyes narrowed. Pain split through Cub’s chest and he jolted once, looking down at the tip of Gideon’s broadsword where it stabbed through his body._ No. _Swaying, he felt his sword drop from his hand._

_The bear lunged down, enormous maw split open._

Jolting awake, Cub immediately swung for the thing leaning over him in his tent. With a yell of fear, Scar fell back and landed on his backside on Cub’s sleeping bag. Cub sucked in a few frantic breaths and touched his chest and throat, gasping. “Hey, hey, Cub, it’s alright.” Scar gently touched his shoulders and Cub looked to the scarred young wizard. “Everything okay?”

It was a rhetorical question. They both knew that. Cub wasn’t okay, nothing was okay. _Was that a dream? Was it something else?_ Shuddering, he rubbed his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. My turn for watch?” Scar nodded, the concern never leaving his face. Easing himself out of his sleeping bag, Cub pulled on some pants and a coat, grabbing his scabbard and the longsword. The thought of having to face Gideon in reality…shuddering, Cub shook his head. Glancing back, he realised Scar was still there and smiled. “I’m okay, Scar. Promise.”

Scar studied him for a few moments, and Cub left the tent as quickly as possible. A few moments later, Cub saw the wizard duck into his own tent. Glancing at the sky, Cub took a breath of the early morning air. “…had his _hand_ cut off. Apparently.” Bdubs said as Cub neared the fire where he, TFC, and Joe were all sitting.

Settling down, Cub took a cup of tea from Joe with a “thanks” and then asked, “hold on, _who_ got their hand cut off?”

“Grian. Apparently. Mumbo talked about it.” Bdubs explained, and Cub tilted his head before looking where Grian’s tent was. Bending his head, he blew on the cup and inhaled some of the herby smell.

“It’s green tea with a bit of honey in it.” Joe explained, and Cub nodded before taking a sip. He wasn’t really a tea fan—that’d always been Amelia’s thing more than his, but…

“Thank you, Joe.”

“Are you quite alright, my friend? You appear to be…perturbed by something.” The bard said, tilting his head to the side. For a few moments, Cub understood all of those words separately, and maybe even not at all.

Then TFC leaned over and whispered in his ear, “He’s asking if you’re okay because you seem concerned about something.”

“Oh. Oh! No, I’m—I’m alright, Joe. Thank you.” Sipping the tea, Cub paused and then realised they were going to wait. _Are we really going to do this? Right now? This is what we’re doing?_ Taking a breath, he sighed. He glanced at them all. They stared back. _Okay, we’re not going to go anywhere. Guess I have to fess up._ He couldn’t stand awkward silences, and this was more awkward than the time that he had proposed to Amelia and she spent a solid two minutes staring at him before passing out from shock. “Are you sure you want to know? I’m supposed to be the—well, not quite the leader, but—”

“You’ve taken enough burden on your shoulders, Cub. Allow us to take some of yours on ours.” Joe replied, reaching over to touch his arm. Sighing, Cub looked down at the tea in his hands. _Why do they call it green tea anyways? It’s brown._

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

“Cub.” TFC said. “We’re friends, right? You can trust us.” Cub looked down at the flames.

“I just…I just had a bad dream. About my family.”

“I get that. They’re fine, Cub. You know that, right?” Bdubs asked, and Cub glanced at him before smiling softly.

“They’re not. I came back and…they were gone. No one in Y’mard knows where they went, all we know is that they just…vanished one day. I think it had to do with one of my ex-teammates, Gideon Barclay. We never liked each other. And…I dreamt that he killed them, and then he…he stabbed me with his sword, and there was this bear.”

He could have sworn that Bdubs went pale.

Ignoring it, Cub shifted. “It’s probably just a nightmare, Cub.” TFC reassured, and Joe nodded. “I don’t mean that to dismiss anything, but I’m sure that the stress has been getting to you. When we get back to town, we’ll rest. It’ll be good for everyone.”

“Yeah, probably.” Cub mused, looking down at the tea in his hands.

A few hours passed, and the conversation switched to quite a few things. Eventually, Bdubs jokingly asked if Joe was getting letters from fans or a lover. “My biggest fan,” he declared in a soft tone, then added, “she’s my daughter.”

“You have a—” Bdubs clapped his hands over his mouth while Joe looked pretty panicked, and then waited a few moments. Leaning forwards over the crackling flames, Bdubs asked, “You have a _daughter?”_

“I do. She’s in Glaedir with her mother.” Pausing, Joe studied Bdubs and said, “You have kids, right?”

“I do. Two lovely daughters and a lovely wife. They’re in Riune-Tsvari.” Looking up, Bdubs pointed north, and then frowned and switched to east. He chuckled lightly, rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s in the east. I have the worst sense of direction.” He continued talking about them, and Cub did his best to listen in. He really did try, but the nightmare still chilled the back of his mind and neck. Like some kind of shadow was lingering over them all.

Eventually, the three all looked to TFC, and the high elf paused for a few seconds. “Well…I do have a family back in the Amatra and Calish provinces in Tiaa’ma. Then there’s False, sort of.”

“You two do seem pretty close. Not in a creepy way, like father-daughter.” TFC laughed, and Bdubs tilted his head to the side. “Why did you and False leave Tiaa’ma, anyways? Python mentioned you two were aristocracy and royalty, but he never explained why you left.”

Joe stepped in hurriedly. “Of course, there is no need to reveal details you don’t wish us to know.”

TFC shrugged. “You’ll find out eventually, they have posters everywhere.” Sitting back, he paused to think and explained, “If you didn’t know, my full name is Tharivol Faust Calish. When I was younger, I was part of the Storm Riders. We adventured a little, if you couldn’t tell.” Smiling, he indicated his prosthetic leg. Most of the time, Cub completely forgot he had it. _Might be something to remember later, if it ever becomes a problem._ “Wild magic exposure. Sort of how I got my sorcerer powers, I was originally just a fighter.”

“What kind?”

TFC winced and looked to the side. “I…don’t actually remember anymore, ironically. I think that happened when the wild magic took my leg.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

TFC shrugged. “It was a few centuries ago, it hardly matters now.” Stretching, he continued, “False’s parents arranged a marriage for her, back in Tiaa’ma, to a noble boy named Adran Liadon. He’s not bad, but I doubt False would have been happy marrying him the way they both were before we left. If she wants to return home and decides she’s ready to marry him, if she wants to at all, then we’ll go back.”

“And you’re willing to stay on the run until then?”

TFC looked at Cub with slightly narrowed, dark brown eyes. “False is headstrong and incredibly intelligent. She knows what she needs to do and what she wants to do, but she still has quite a bit to learn and she’s young. If staying on the run is what it takes to help her grow as a person, whatever that means in the end, then yes. I am willing to do exactly that. She’s like my daughter, maybe a granddaughter.”

“So I’m guessing you’re the one who taught her how to wield a sword?” Cub asked, and TFC nodded quietly.

“I can relate to the ‘on the run’ sentiment.” Joe mused, running a hand through his dark hair. When everyone looked to him, he chuckled and said, “I do believe that it was a large story several years back. Do you remember the bard who came into King Samuel I’s court?”

“The one who roasted him to Neté’s realm? Of course I do.” Bdubs laughed, then froze. Looking to Joe, he asked, “Was that you?”

Joe raised his chin a little bit, shoulders squared. “I condemned his actions regarding the Cy’Ratha, yes. As well as his other actions, many of which I do not approve of. While I will respect authority, it is my duty to myself, to my family, and to my community to ensure that said authority is not corrupt. I will not stand idly by while people are massacred simply for a small difference they cannot change. There’s no justice in that.”

Before they could continue, Hypno stumbled out of his tent and then disappeared into the woods. “Is he alright?” Cub asked, looking to Bdubs. The prophet had a sympathetic expression on.

“He said he was feeling sick earlier during dinner. It might be hitting him since he’s so tired. We’re all tired.” Bdubs explained. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, Hypno returned and weakly signed something else. Smiling, Bdubs replied, “Yeah, bud, you’re probably sick.”

And then Hypno collapsed.

Cursing, Cub jumped to his feet, TFC at his side, and they pulled him over to the fire. Hypno stirred a little as they did, smiled weakly. _“Sorry.”_ He signed, and Cub touched his arm gently.

“Not your fault, kid. What hurts?” Hypno kept signing, and Bdubs crouched down and touched his stomach once. Wincing, Hypno shoved at his hands, and Bdubs pulled back in shock. Even in the shadows from the fire, Cub could make out the distinct stain of blood on Bdubs’ fingers. Looking at him with wide brown eyes, Bdubs turned back to Hypno.

“Hypno, you’re _bleeding.”_

TFC frowned and then tugged at Hypno’s shirt. There were three deep claw slashes across his stomach. “This isn’t from the dungeon. Nothing there could have done this.” TFC murmured under his breath. Hypno started signing to Bdubs frantically. “What’s he saying?”

Bdubs’ eyes widened and he leapt to his feet, holding out a hand. A stick flew from the ground to his hand, and everyone stared at him for a moment. On his shoulders, there was a fat tabby cat. “Everyone on your feet!” He roared, and there was some stir in the woods.

A duellist lunged for Bdubs, and Cub grabbed his longsword with a curse.

+++

“Everyone on your feet!”

The roar snapped Impulse out of his dream about flying. Jumping to his feet, he scrambled for his weapons as Zedaph and Tango did the same, then raced out of the tent. Pine needles stabbed the soles of his feet, but he barely noticed. Mostly because the moment he emerged from the tent, a monster dropped onto his shoulders.

Rolling forwards, he slammed his opponent into the ground and used his tail to straighten himself out once he was on his feet again. Shortswords in hand, he braced himself to block and ducked to the side, tail flicking. Tango was fighting another one of the things, a smaller one that looked…vaguely like an elf? _What the heck?_ “What are these guys?” He shouted above the din of clashing swords.

“They’re duellists!” Cub warned. “Watch out for the blades, they’ll cut right through your soul!”

“That’s just an exaggeration!” Tango yelled, and Cub dropped to his knees, skidded on the dirt, and then slashed his sword through one of the duellists’ spines. It dissipated into smoke, but Cub still avoided the blade.

“It really isn’t.”

_Okay, that’s going to be easy. Just make sure I don’t get cut by the sword of a monster. In the dark. Perfectly easy._ Kicking off the ground, Impulse fanned out his wings and slammed his foot into one of the duellists’ face. Pain split through his ankle as it rolled, but he drove his sword into the middle of the monster’s head anyways. It collapsed into shadows, and he spent a moment panting. A shadow loomed over him, sword raised.

Whipping around, Impulse came face to face with one of the duellists, and several things happened at once.

The duellist began swinging.

Tango and Zedaph shouted at him to run, but his feet seemed cemented to the earth below him.

An arrow whipped in with a loud whistle and struck through the duellist’s chest.

Blue sparks started flying from the arrow, and something with wings snapped over the Hermits. There were more of the flashing arrows, taking out one duellist after another. Landing, the person spun to look at Impulse and smiled. It wouldn’t have been so weird if it weren’t for the fact Impulse _knew_ this person from somewhere. _What the heck?_

Dark blue scales freckled under the man’s eyes, and he was maybe a few years older than Impulse was. His eyes matched the scales, and he had short brown hair. Decked out in the usual ranger’s gear, he took a few steps away from Impulse. “Sorry, Impy, but I have to run now.”

Turning, he shot off without another word.

“Impy?” Impulse echoed, frowning. The nickname struck a note and his eyes widened. “W-wait!” Shedding his jacket for more mobility, he started sprinting, unfolding his wings. “Hey, wait up!”

“Impulse!” Tango shouted, but Impulse didn’t really register the words until later. Throwing himself into the air, he sped after the winged ranger without a second thought. He wasn’t thinking.

The wind whipped past him as he shot over the clouds. Dawn sunlight streamed over them, and for a few moments he was completely blinded before he managed to get himself handled again. “Hello?” He shouted, spinning in a circle. Droplets of cloud clung to his wings, swirled around him as he turned to look for the person. Golden rays of sunlight scattered amongst the pink and pale lavender, the soft periwinkle blue of the sky still holding a few dim stars like tiny diamonds. “Hey! Who are you? How do I know you?”

A shadow passed over him, and he looked up to see the winged man flying above him. _Come on, Impulse. You have to find out how he knows you._ Beating his wings harder, Impulse shot up next to him. “You followed me.” The stranger laughed, tilting his head to the side. “I’m not sure whether I should be surprised or not.”

Impulse banked to the right to try and keep him from leaving. The stranger paused for a moment, then ducked beneath him. Dropping to that level, Impulse unfurled his wings. “Who are you? Why don’t—why can’t I remember you?”

“Look, I’m not really supposed to talk to you, I kind of have to—go?” The stranger pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. Darting around, Impulse stopped him. “Impy, come on—”

“You know my name. You’ve been following us for a while. Why?” The stranger tried to dart away, and Impulse decided he’d finally had it. Tackling the guy, he trapped the guy’s blue wings with his own gold and they started dropping out of the sky.

“Okay, you’re going to do that.” Bracing a foot against Impulse’s stomach, the man kicked him off. “If you can catch me again, then _maybe_ I’ll tell you. In the meantime…sorry.”

There was a bright flash of blue, and Impulse yelled and pressed his hands over his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, the man was gone. _No. No, I’m not letting go of you that easily._ Maybe it was selfish, but Impulse shot above the clouds again and took a breath, looking for any sign of the man. There was a faint shadow whipping through the clouds. _Alright, then._ Folding his wings, he ducked lower and focused on flying and finding this stranger.

He almost shot above the stranger’s head.

Unfurling one wing, he circled forwards, watched the world spin around in front of. Slamming on the brakes, he heard the yelp and then felt the man smash into his shoulders and back. There was a crack in his wing and he gasped in pain, dropping out of the sky. For a moment, he thought he’d fall and die.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, and there was a sharp jerk.

Looking up, he found the stranger holding him. “You alright?” He asked, and Impulse stared at him for a moment.

_“Skizz?”_

Skizzle grinned down at him. “Hey, Imps. You alright?”

“I think I hurt my wing.” Flapping it weakly, Impulse grimaced. Skizzle started descending, wings fully unfurled so that they were gliding instead of free-falling. Underneath them, their feet met soft, tall grass graced with silvery morning dew. The clouds had parted, and Skizzle gently set him down and then started looking at his wings.

“My gosh, you haven’t stopped _growing_ since the last time I saw you.” Straightening up, Skizzle grinned and then commented, “Well, I guess you haven’t gotten much taller.”

Shoving his shoulder, Impulse snorted. “Shut up.” Pausing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh no. The others are probably wondering where I am right now.” He turned to take off, and Skizzle grabbed his arm and yanked him back, throwing him to the grass. “Hey!”

“You think you’re going to fly on that wing? That’s sprained if you’re lucky.” Sighing, Skizzle looked at him and asked, “You’re not going to just let me fly off, are you?”

“No chance.” Dragging himself upright with Skizzle’s help, Impulse grabbed onto his friend’s shirt. “I’m not letting you go again.”

Skizzle groaned and looked at the sky. “Arayan, why do you have to do this to me.”

“Ah-what-yan?”

“Arayan.”

“Ah-rye-yan?”

“Yes. Long story. Might explain it one day.” Skizzle took a breath and then looked Impulse up and down. Flicking his wings back, Impulse glanced away. “Alright. We’re gonna have to walk. You alright with that?”

“Uh, yeah. You owe me, like, fourteen years at _least_ of catching up.” They started walking down the path towards the other Hermits. Nudging Skizzle’s ankle with his own, Impulse added, “You never struck me as the kind of person to become a _ranger_ of all things. What do you track?”

Face flushing, Skizzle replied, “Cy’Ratha, Athava, ad En’dir. And a few other things.” Raising a gauntlet, he explained, “Arayan has the ability to give us some…power ups, you could say. It’s like those games we used to play.”

“What, so you’re a 6th tier?”

“8th, actually. What about you?”

“3rd tier rogue.”

“What division? Arcane trickster?” Impulse glanced away.

“Thief.”

“No! Really?” Impulse didn’t reply. A peculiar tone leached into Skizzle’s voice. “Oh, where are your parents? I’m going to fight them—they kicked you out, didn’t they?”

“No, they—they died.” A silence fell between them, and Skizzle’s hand landed on Impulse’s shoulder. Glancing over, Impulse said, “You have no idea how good it is to see you.” Skizzle smiled, then dragged him into a tight hug, wings folding around him. Clinging to him, Impulse maybe cried just a little bit.

Skizzle let him.

+++

When Impulse finally came back, a few hours after flying off after the winged stranger, he had a friend with him.

The two were chatting like old friends, and Tango watched them as they walked back curiously. Zedaph was leaning on his shoulder, dozing. “Well, someone’s made a friend.” Tango mused, and Impulse settled down. “Who’s this guy?”

Zedaph jolted awake and looked around with bleary purple eyes. “Oh. Hello, violet eyes.” Skizzle mused, smiling. Face flushing, Zedaph looked away. “Aw, I meant it as a compliment.”

“W-who are you?” Zedaph asked, and Tango prepared to move in if something went wrong. Judging by the slightly exasperated expression Impulse was wearing, though, this was probably normal? Maybe?

Skizzle grinned and jokingly kissed the back of Zedaph’s hand. The half-elf looked more concerned and confused than anything else. “I’m Skizzle Meadowlark-Caracara.” Zedaph pulled his hand away, and Tango moved a little closer to him, tail flicking. Studying Skizzle with narrowed eyes, he spoke.

“I’m Tango Random, and this is Zedaph Lost.” Skizzle blinked and tilted his head to the side.

“Random and Lost. Huh.” Turning to Impulse, he asked, “Did you ever tell them your surname?”

“You have a surname?” Zedaph asked, straightening up. Laughing, Impulse rubbed the back of his neck.

“Technically, I have two? Sort of? Does it count as one or two?”

“His surname is Swift-Violetear.” Skizzle’s eyes darted over Tango and Zedaph’s heads and suddenly narrowed. Turning, Tango followed his gaze.

Grian was standing there, wings unfolded.

Eyes narrowing, the Cy’Ratha turned and stalked off into the woods with Cub. “Anyways, Hypno made breakfast. You want some?” Zedaph offered, looking at them both.

“Oh my gosh, he makes the best stuff. Is there enough for Skizz, too? Or, wait—do you have your own—I don’t know—”

Holding up a hand, Skizzle laughed and said, “I’m alright, Impy.” _Impy?_ Tango frowned, watching Skizzle for a few seconds. _Is he trying to trick us or am I just being suspicious?_

“Oh, I need to introduce you to everyone else! Come on!” Impulse dragged his childhood friend after him, and Zedaph and Tango watched for a moment before turning to one another.

“Can we trust him? I think we can but I’m not sure?” Tango said, and Zedaph looked to him.

“First off, he’s giving Impulse the same look that Impulse gives you when listening to you tell stories about travelling and the same look he gave me when I gave him cheese and crackers that one time. Or the look that everyone gets when Hypno makes anything.”

“Hypno is a great cook, okay?” Tango argued, and Zedaph rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Secondly, one look at that guy and I can tell his internal train of thought is about as dangerous as a sleeping Jellie.”

“Jellie’s pretty dangerous, though.”

“Oh, sure. When you make her mad. He’s not going to hurt us, though.” Glancing after where Grian and Cub disappeared, Zedaph added, “He has the same death vibe as Grian does, though. Either they don’t like each other…or they have a past with one another.”

Looking at where Impulse was currently introducing Skizzle to some of the older Hermits, Tango decided he wouldn’t step in…not yet.

+++

Maybe Skizzle couldn’t _quite_ be trusted yet, but he was one heck of a storyteller regardless of whether or not he was lying.

“…and so I’m standing there, looking like an absolute nightmare because Impulse is thrown over my shoulders, and then my brother comes in with a chair and just _smacks_ me in the _face!”_ Flailing around, Skizzle paused and grinned as Etho and Stress busted out laughing. Beside him on the horse, Impulse was laughing sheepishly. Meanwhile, Tango leaned forwards on his gelding’s neck, listening intently and looking at Impulse every so often with a particular grin.

Grian was a few steps behind them. Of course he was still listening. Beside him, Bdubs, Cub, Ren, and Cleo were doing the same thing, riding and listening at the same time. _Wow. There’s a lot about Impulse that I didn’t know._ Pausing, he glanced ahead at where Iskall was riding with Beef, Biffa, and xB. The assassin was laughing at something, and still nursing his shoulder, rebandaging it as they rode. _Maybe I should apologise._

_Why? I didn’t do anything wrong, he did._

_Seriously? Is that the excuse you’re telling yourself? You’re acting like Sam!_ Part of him yelled. Shuddering at the thought, Grian rubbed his hands up and down his arms for a brief moment. _Stop acting like him! Go apologise!_

 _What if he doesn’t even want to talk to me?_ Grian frowned and looked at the land surrounding them. They were still on the Skyfire Summit, which wasn’t much of a surprise. It’d probably be another few days before they managed to get down to the town they’d stopped in before. Snow coated the trees around them, sparkling white in some areas and flecked with twigs and dirt in others. Leaning over, Joe scooped up some snow in his hand and started packing it into a ball. Beside him, Mumbo and Keralis and Xisuma rode on, completely oblivious. Mumbo was still fixing Jumbo’s wing, humming to himself as he worked. Keralis was chatting away in some language Grian didn’t recognise, and Xisuma would occasionally reply.

Icicles dripped from the conifers around them, shimmering in the sunlight. Frost dusted leaves and bark, slid over the rocks. Taking a breath of the chilly air, Grian suddenly found himself wishing that he had a scarf. Sure, he ran warmer as a Cy’Ratha. Sure, he was very rarely _cold_. But flying and his wings meant he wasn’t exactly the brawniest of people, and he shivered under his clothes even in the summer. (Someone had once asked him if he was an herb addict. He was not, in fact, an herb addict.)

There was a snort from a horse beside him, and gloves hit his lap. Looking up, Grian met Iskall’s turquoise and green-hazel gaze. The assassin arched an eyebrow, then took his horse’s reins and made it trot back up to where the people he was meant to ride by were. Zedaph started going over a little tune on his ocarina as Skizzle’s story lulled to a stop, the cheerful echoing like birdsong in the snow-wreathed woods. Jevin grinned wickedly and exchanged a glance with Joe, tossing a snowball in his hand into the air and then nodding at Cub. Grinning right back, Joe nodded, and both men chucked their snowballs at the same time. Cub ducked, and the snow spattered into False’s hair and over Doc’s shoulder.

“Who threw that?” The Cryor demanded, whipping around.

“Let’s stop for the night.” Cub remarked, and Python nodded. Hopping off of his horse, Cub went to a clearing, scooped up some snow in a gloved hand—and then beaned Doc in the face.

“Cub!” The Cryor roared, launching off of his horse and tackling the fighter. Apparently, Cub shoved some snow down the back of his shirt, because Doc started yelling and jumping around, shaking out his shirt.

“Alright, kids, have at each other. TFC, Python, anyone who feels like being mature, help me set up tents.” Iskall tried to help, but Cub put a hand on his chest. “Not you, Iskall. Go crazy, throw a snowball. You need it.”

Iskall stared at him. “You told me to not act childish.”

“There’s a difference between being childish and having fun. Throwing punches at your friend? Childish. This?” Cub gestured to where Cleo had pounced on False and shoved snow down the back of her armour, only to get tackled in return. “This is having fun. Now go have it.”

Xisuma and Keralis slipped away to go set up their tent, and Grian slipped into the shadows of one of the trees sticking up from the ground. A raven shot into the air, snow flying from its wings. “Whoa! Cleo!” False looked up, and the raven landed on a rock. Shifting back to her normal form, Cleo landed heavily in the snow and then chucked a snowball at Stress. The druid ducked to the side, laughing. “That was awesome!”

“Uh, no duh!” Cleo replied, grinning as everyone started laughing. Returning back to the snowball fight, tent fully set up, Xisuma and Keralis watched one another’s backs. Grian climbed up into the tree he’d been hiding behind, scooping up some snow with his wings. Sure, it was cold, but he’d flown in icy conditions before and a little snow was _nothing_ compared to that. Laughing, he made a few snowballs and looked around for Iskall.

Snow thwacked him in the back and he fell forwards with a yell. Cold snow smushed into his face and he rolled over to see Iskall standing above him, grinning wickedly. Grabbing a handful of snow, Grian threw it up at the assassin, not even worrying about the chill in his fingers.

“Sacrifice for the snow god!” Ren shouted, holding Wels. The blond paladin yelled, wriggling around. Laughing, Ren threw him into a snowdrift, and Wels popped back up with snow clinging to his hair.

“Oh, you’re going to get it! Just wait until I get back up there!” Wels threatened, floundering through the deep snow like a cat that’d been chucked into snow. Some flakes drifted down and he sneezed like a puppy.

“Aw, Wels. That was so cute.” Stress mused, pausing for one second. Behind her, Etho took his chance and jumped up with a massive snowball in his hands, sending it crashing down on her shoulders. Yelping, she grabbed him and they both went flailing into the snow drift besides Wels. When both of them resurfaced, Etho was holding Side Kit in the air. The little fox cub was wriggling around, eyes bugging out of her head.

“Why are you freaking out? This is snow! You’re a white fox!” Etho yelled at the chaotic little animal, setting her down on the snow. Immediately, she started rolling in it, and Etho hauled himself up. “Ow, ow, okay.” Side Kit had grabbed onto his ear, and he tilted his head to the side and followed her somewhat. “Ow, ow, _okay, okay,_ Side Kit. Stop it— _stop it!”_

Wels and Stress, deciding they had a common enemy, lunged forwards and grabbed Ren by the ankles, dragging him into the snow drift with them. Howling like a wolf, he landed flat on his back and then rolled. “Nope! Get back here!” Wels laughed.

“Cannonball!” Biffa shouted without warning.

“Biffa, _no!”_ Beef shouted. Grian laughed at the sight of the blond dwarf vanishing into the snow drift. “Biffa! No! This isn’t a swimming pool!”

Xisuma started laughing, doubled over. Someone bashed them in the head with a snowball and everyone froze as their helmet skidded away. “I got it!” Scar shouted, shoving the poor sorcerer down into the snow and ripping his poncho off so he could throw it over their head. For a few moments, Grian had no clue what had happened until Scar was running back with the helmet and lifting the poncho, handing it over underneath. _Oh. He didn’t want anyone to see Xisuma’s face without them wanting to. That was…nice of him, I guess._

“That was nice of him, right?” Grian asked, turning to look at Hypno. Freezing, he did a double-take at Hypno and then the snowballs in his hand. “You’re going to hit me with those. Aren’t you?”

Hypno gave him the smuggest grin Grian had ever seen on a human being, and then proceeded to smash the snowballs into his face.

+++

The snowball fight got…a little out of hand, to say the least, but it was the most fun Stress had had in _years_.

At the end of it, Bdubs, Skizzle, Impulse, Zedaph, and Tango had all teamed up, making a snow fort and then firing snowballs out of it with deadly accuracy. Scar, Grian, Iskall, and Mumbo all banded together to stop them, declaring it the “Frost Wars”. TFC called them children, leading Tango to loudly declare he was in fact a child, as well as Grian to admit that, by Cy’Ratha standards, twenty-seven was about the same as the number for elves. They both decided that meant they could still act perfectly like children.

Scar made Jellie…well, big. The grey tabby tackled Bdubs’ fat familiar and they started wrestling. Side Kit was running away from Etho in his fox form, clearly playing a game. Eventually, Jevin limped off to make dinner with Hypno and the older guys’ help. The warm smell of some kind of warm food filled the air and Stress found her mouth literally watering as she followed Cleo and Ren to their little snow fort. Wels and Joe were there as well. Actually, so was Doc, but Joe and Wels were kind of…sitting on him.

“Alright, kids, come get dinner!” Cub ordered, and everyone slowly emerged from their hiding spots throughout the clearing. The landscape was dancing with pale lavender light from the dusk, while the crackling flames cast a warm orange glow over the campfire’s middle.

“Oh my gosh, Hypno, Jevin, what did you _make?_ My mouth is watering from all the way over here.” Tango commented, laughing. Jevin and Hypno exchanged a grin.

“Chili.” Jevin pointed at the main pot, then continued indicating the other stuff that they’d made. “Hypno had some shortbread cookies with him, and some rolls, cheese—”

“What kind?”

“Svejdan Gårdost. And cheddar, for anyone who likes that.” Pausing, Jevin added, “We also have some dried fruit. I don’t know where Hypno found that, but he did and he brought it out as we were making dinner. I’ll work on hot chocolate and stuff, but y’all need some water.”

“On it! Mumbo, Grian, Iskall!” Scar dragged the three after him, and Iskall glanced back at the cheese. _Oh, right. It must be from his home province or something,_ Stress realised, looking after them. A very snow-flecked Side Kit was plopped in her lap as Etho settled down beside her, towelling off his own hair. It matched the fox’s fur.

“You better not use that towel on Side Kit.” Stress mused. “We both know what happened to your jacket last time.”

“Oh ha _ha. Very funny, Stress.”_ Etho replied, yawning. Settling down, he leaned his head on her shoulder, taking Side Kit in his lap again. Side Kit started nibbling his fingers with gentle but still needle-like teeth, and Stress just had to be grateful it wasn’t her Etho’s baby was chomping on.

“She’s not teething, is she?” Cub asked, and Etho looked up and shook his head. “Oh. Good. I’ve had human children go through that; I can’t imagine what it’d be like for a fox kit.”

Face flushing, Etho replied, “She’s not my baby.”

“Sure she isn’t.”

Dinner continued once Scar and the others brought water back. Of course, everything seemed to settle down for a little while. Idle chatter went on and on, TFC and some of the others offering up stories about past winters spent with families. Jevin and Hypno passed out mugs of hot chocolate as Bdubs regaled the story of when he and his wife had nearly managed to give their child hypothermia taking her ice skating for the first time and then he’d fallen into a lake. “I was fine afterwards, and I’ve survived worse since then.” He said rather dismissively. When Python tilted his head, Bdubs explained, “I’ve been eaten by…a big fish, a hellhound, and an acid serpent. They were all different incidents, obviously.”

Chuckling nervously, Python shoved a large spoonful of chili in his mouth and then immediately burst out with a cry at the spice. Cackling, Jevin gave Hypno a high-five while Python started downing some milk. Jokes were cracked.

“Hey, Zedaph…” The blond looked to Cleo, who leaned forwards on one knee and continued, “You look like the kind of person who’d have some fun winter stories.”

Zedaph’s eyes darted down to the crackling flames. If Stress didn’t know better, then she would have guessed that Zedaph was blushing slightly lavender. “Well, there were a lot of times with the circus. Like this one time—”

“Don’t you have any stories with your family?” Stress asked, ducking her head slightly to meet Zedaph’s violet gaze. Laughing, he straightened up and rubbed the back of his neck again.

“Actually…I don’t remember a ton. I grew up in the circus, the first thing I remember is a storm and…I don’t know.” Looking down at his hands, he mused, “I used to think I was half-human, but now I’m not so sure. It’s not normal for wood elves to teleport. Right?” He looked to Mumbo and then Keralis.

Raising his hands, Keralis replied, “I’m a half-elf, I wouldn’t know. Half _wood_ elf, sure, but that’s…” Mumbo shook his head as well.

“Sorry, I can’t help you with the teleportation bit. It’s from your non-elf side, if I had to guess.” A silence fell over the group, and Tango threw himself on top of Zedaph casually.

“Hey, we don’t care what you are as long as you’re a Zedaph. Are you a Zedaph?” Zedaph nodded, smiling. Grinning, Tango tapped the end of his nose, making the half-elf snort, and declared, “Good. Don’t care what you are, you’re a Zedaph and that’s enough.”

“You’re _our_ Zedaph.” Impulse added, and Bdubs nodded. Blushing, Zedaph ducked his head.

“Thanks.”

“You could be End’ir.” Skizzle abruptly broke in, and Zedaph scoffed lightly.

“Sure. I’m some sort of ancient, mythical—”

“The Cy’Ratha have been thought to be mythical and I know for a fact there are several sitting around this campfire. You treat the End’ir as mythical yet you have seen something also supposedly mythical, the World Maker, in an avatar form. The lightning-spitter dragon that struck down Thylama was no mere dragon, it was an avatar. You’ll meet him again.”

“Hold on—there’s too much information.” Mumbo began, waving his hands. Grian nodded, looking at Skizzle. “What do you mean by _meet him again?_ Avatar? What does any of this mean?”

“The World Maker made the Keys, and the dungeons to defend them. He set Neté, Zelonnia, X’elodian, and X’arrin in their places as rulers of the Na’atharin, Villadi’or, and Aethra. He created guardians to watch over the Keys, and he’s been watching over you for _years_.”

“Years? Yeah, right.” Doc scoffed, and Skizzle focused a sharp blue gaze on him.

“Believe me, _Moss_. Scar has seen him. As have many of you, if not all of you, long before we all ever met.” Tilting his head to the side, Skizzle continued, “I may not know everything that he has in store, but Ventus Arayan has a hand in quite a few key events. Whatever reason he’s had to pick all of you, there’s…well, I have very little doubt that you _won’t_ be the group to find the Cursed Crown.”

Xisuma started coughing.

Turning, Keralis mused, “Well, before we get into any world-changing stands…I think some of us are getting a little sick.” Xisuma sucked in a few breaths, shaking their head. “What? You’re not sick?” They nodded. Laughing, Keralis said, “Prove it.”

Xisuma kept coughing.

+++

Xisuma wasn’t the only one who was sick.

They got back to the inn without managing to have anyone nearly die, although there was a moment where they thought there was a wolf tracking them. It turned out not to be anything. Now that they were back at the inn, though, Xisuma had sentenced Iskall, Grian, Impulse, Bdubs, Zedaph, Doc, Jevin, _and_ Wels to bed rest as they coughed like they were hacking up their lungs.

For the moment, though, Cub was trying not to worry about the sick Hermits as much as he could, instead standing with Ren and Cleo in the line to buy food at a local bakery. Rolling back on his heels, he glanced around. “Cub, it’s going to be fine. It’s not that bad, they’ll be alright. Besides, I’m pretty sure that we have the easy job.” Cleo reassured, reaching over to touch Cub’s shoulder. Glancing over, he smiled at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Can you imagine having to watch over all those sick Hermits? One of them would be bad enough, but _nine?_ Not to mention there’s Xisuma with them. And Grian. And Doc.”

“And Wels.” Both of them looked to Ren in confusion, frowning. “Look, that kid is as stubborn as you are, Cleo. And that’s saying something.”

“It really is.” Cleo sighed, and they stepped up to the counter.

About twenty minutes later, they made their way back to the inn and passed some of the food out to the healthy Hermits. Then, Cub and Scar made their way out to grab some other supplies.

+++

Iskall was not sick.

Dragging himself across the ground as the ot—the _sick_ Hermits, he was _not sick_ —slept in their own beds, Iskall checked in on Grian. No, he didn’t _not_ care about the Cy’Ratha. He just…things were awkward. Grian’s friend was Taurtis. Previously, Iskall had tried to kill Taurtis. And then he got eaten by a fish. So…not the best.

Taking a breath, Iskall slumped down by Grian’s bed and glanced in on him. He was okay. Snoring loudly, like a chainsaw being taken to a petrified log, but okay.

With a sigh, Iskall laid down and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sick. Nope, not him. Not at all. Iskall could not be sick.

He was just tired, that’s all.

+++

When they got back to the ill Hermits’ room, they found an…interesting sight.

“Oh. Well, that’s something.” Cub commented, looking to Scar. The wizard had grown progressively more and more exhausted over the trip, and now he kind of looked dead on his feet.

Smiling, Cub walked over and gently smoothed Iskall’s hair back. “I think he’s getting even more sick.” Scar said in a stuffy tone, sniffing loudly and then covering his face with his scarf. A sharp, rattling cough shook his shoulders. “Ugh, I can _not_ get sick. This isn’t going to be fun.” Slowly, he sat down on his bed and leaned back with a groan. Jellie popped into existence and settled down on his chest, purring loudly. “We’re all going to be sick at some point or other, I know it.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, we’ll wait for everyone to get better.” Cub decided, slowly moving Iskall into the bed beside Grian. He wasn’t going to bother with trying to move the assassin across the room to his own bed, and if he was getting sick anyways he and Grian might as well share the bed. Who cared, anyways? If they were comfortable, then it really didn’t matter. “Iskall. You awake?”

Mumbling something, Iskall opened an eye just a crack and looked at him for a moment, and that was when Cub knew the assassin was sick. Groaning, Iskall tried raising his head just a little and looked around, bleary eyed. “Cub?” There was a croak to his voice. Blinking like it was hard, Iskall shook his head. “What…what happened?”

“Nope. Stop it.” Shoving him back down on the bed, Cub pressed Iskall down with a hand on his forehead. Iskall batted at his arm weakly. It didn’t do anything, though. “You’re sick. Go back to bed, I’m not moving you.”

“’M _fine._ Not sick.” A beat passed. “Cub. I’m not sick.”

“Prove it. Get out of this bed right now.” Iskall tried moving, and Cub braced his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“Get off me.”

“Nope. You have to do that yourself.” Iskall’s nose wrinkled. For a few moments, he did _try_ to move, but then he seemed to realise he wasn’t going anywhere and gave up with a sigh. Taking a deep breath, he frowned. “You alright?”

“My chest…feels weird. Stupid dungeon, must be wha…got us sick.” Yawning, he settled back into the bed and closed his eyes, and Cub smiled before gently laying a blanket over Iskall and Grian both. Tucking it in around them, he almost leaned in and kissed one of them on the forehead before sharply reminding himself that these were not, in fact, his children and were his teammates. His teammates who happened to be younger than him, by over a decade on Grian’s part and by significantly less on Iskall’s. Leaning back, he watched the two for a moment.

Then, shoving the weird feeling in his chest back down, Cub slowly got back up and then walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen hoarfrost a total of once and the snowy scenes are based off of the youth camp my church has gone to for literal years. We can’t go this year because of COVID and stuff, and since it would have been my last year I decided to write down what I know somewhere. Sort of a grieving thing, I guess, but I might throw the Hermits into the camp in another, much shorter fic for the heck of it because hey it’d be good practice for fluff/realistic fiction writings.  
> Anyways, if you can’t tell I have no idea how to write Joe’s dialogue which is why he barely talks so this poor guy’s words and prose are definitely going to suffer. Sorry. One of my favourite Grian quotes is “resembles a jellybean and a forty-year-old man”. Also, just a reminder in case you need it (and because I had a weird thought of “oh gosh how would the Hermits respond if they found this? Like would they be freaked out am I accidentally writing some of these as romantic by accident?”, which was a trip to have a little crisis over), this really isn’t a ship fic. Slight spoilers (not really), there’s not going to be a ship with the majority of the Hermits unless I happen to have seen them interact *with* a particular person. For instance, Tango’s character does actually have a love interest in the story, but you haven’t really met them yet and they are not another Hermit. Nor are they Skizzle. Bdubs obviously has a love interest, that would be his wife. I think Cleo might *technically* have a love interest, but that’s kind of complicated and major spoiler territory that I won’t get into. Sorry. False obviously has a technical love interest with her fiancé, Adran Liadon. Anyways, I won’t say don’t ship real people, because honestly it’s not something that generally hurts people. If you’re the kind of person who *does* send death threats to the creators for whatever reason, though…you’re not being the person Mr Rogers thought you could be, you’re being a discount store with regular pricing and no bathrooms and you need to get that part of you together. Death threats aren’t cool no matter what. (On a note, 90% of Skizzle’s interactions with anyone and everyone are joking and written just from wherever they popped up in my mind. Like the hand kissing bit? Done specifically as a joke. Additionally, when Tango was suspicious of him? Tango rolled a nat 18, Zed rolled a nat 18 as well, and Skizzle got a 1)  
> Anyways, tune in next chapter for a revelation of Grian’s name and past, Impulse and Python interacting, and some more of the sickfic in a clearer light. Because come on, every fandom has an obligatory sickfic, and I have done one for every fandom I’ve been in. Because easy whump and it’s a fun dynamic to play with.  
> Anyways, thanks for reading. Y'all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	20. 18.2: A Cut In (Sorry!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of making a long author’s note that none of you will want to read because you’ll be worried afterwards, I decided to make a quick preview with some of what I have right now. Which is why this is titled “18.2”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Teaser trailer for “Dragonborn” in case I don’t have it finished in time. Long story!  
> TWs should be in tags unless I missed any, but let’s get into this!

Grian looked at Skizzle with narrowed eyes, watching the man’s every move.

“Who are you, really?” He asked, and Skizzle scoffed. Tossing his head, Skizzle’s dark blue eyes travelled over the houses away from the inn as he leaned against the balcony railing. Squaring his shoulders, Grian stared at him with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t answer me right now—”

“I am Skizzle. Skizzle Meadowlark-Caracara. I never lied about my identity.” Skizzle’s eyes narrowed and held Grian’s for a moment. “ _You,_ however, have…Xelqua Brambling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing! Thank you for reading, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	21. XIXa: Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulse and Python talk about some recent developments. Skizzle confronts Grian on why he left, revealing more about Grian’s backstory and the Cy’Ratha.   
> Oh, and there’s also some sick Hermits who cause some chaos.   
> ~  
> Part one of some number lol sorry. (The new question mark in the chapter is because I have no idea how many of these I'll need :/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have a limited amount of time to do this so basically if there are mistakes, I apologise. Anyways, nice to be back. Missed you guys a lot, working on the fic, the tumblr is up (name is in the end notes!) Also, this is being uploaded in two parts—the parts I have finished and the part I did the night this came out because I need to make sure y’all get this if I drop off the internet again.   
> Oh, and this is also the technical sickfic chapter, because come on, let’s be realistic. If these idiots (I use that lovingly) *don’t* get sick, they’re going to try and do something. The least I can do is give them a bit of sickness to take them off their feet…forcefully. It’s mandatory.   
> Anyways, on with this chapter! Starting with a teaser of a chapter way in the future (trust me, this one’s going to pop up every so often, but considering the content of the chapter ahead…you kind of need it.)

_Sometime in the Future…_

_When the dust cleared, only one of the men was left standing._

_Well, standing maybe wasn’t the right word for it. Neither was man, really. With golden magic dripping off of his form, glowing bright like steel in a dying sunset or glittering embers in a smouldering fire, he looked less humanoid and more godlike. Wings shaking, he stared down at the man underneath him, panting and blinking a few times, eyes gleaming like carnelian in sunlight. One fist was pounded into the dirt by his opponent’s head, and the god-looking one swallowed shakily._

_Underneath him, two broken wings were splayed out in the dirt. Blood streaked the feathers, painted them in a macabre display of the fight itself. Half-open, glazed eyes stared up. Either he was in shock, or he was dead. A moment passed, one where nothing in the earth nor sky nor sea moved or dared to breathe. Then, a small smile cracked the fallen man’s face. A shuddering breath rattled through his chest, and he wheezed out a few words._

_“Looks like…you won…”_

+++

Grian looked at Skizzle with narrowed eyes, watching the man’s every move.

“Who are you, really?” He asked, and Skizzle scoffed. Tossing his head, Skizzle’s dark blue eyes travelled over the houses, away from the inn as he leaned against the balcony railing. Squaring his shoulders, Grian stared at him with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t answer me right now—”

“I am Skizzle. Skizzle Meadowlark-Caracara. I never lied about my identity.” Skizzle’s eyes narrowed and held Grian’s for a moment. “ _You,_ however, have…Xelqua Brambling.” Grian’s eyes narrowed, and he went for his rapier. Holding up his hands, Skizzle said, “Calm down, calm down. I was sent by the World Maker; I didn’t come to hurt you. If I wanted to, I would have let the other adventurers kill you. Or that monster earlier.”

Still staring him down, Grian unfolded his wings. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you immediately, Meadowlark-Caracara.” Skizzle wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I don’t know who this Xelqua is—”

Skizzle pulled something from his jacket and threw it forwards. Clattering on the ground, it tapped against Grian’s boots, and he stared down at it. All of sudden, the wind had been ripped from beneath his wings. Slowly, he crouched down and lifted it into his hands. Three feathers, one ruby red, one sapphire blue, and a third from his own wings, his own dark burgundy red. All of them were connected to a thin gold ring. “He said you may need proof of my coming in peace.”

Grian’s eyes darted up to him as he carefully pulled the little symbol into his hands and cradled it close. “Where did you get this?” Skizzle simply looked down at him, half-lidded eyes and face almost blank. Straightening up, Grian demanded, _“Where did you get this?”_

“I told you. I was given it, Xelqua.”

“I’m not Xelqua.” Looking down, Grian shoved any memories he had of that name down. He was not Xelqua. Not anymore. “My name is Grian. Nothing else.” There was a soft scoff, and he glared at Skizzle. “ _I am Grian._ ”

“Alright, Grian…” Turning, Skizzle brushed by him and then added, “We’ll talk, soon. About why you abandoned the Cy’Ratha. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” Grian raised his head and stared after Skizzle as he disappeared into the inn again. Taking a breath, he wrapped his fingers around the feathers and the ring, then looked down. Two faces popped into his mind, and he took a long breath.

He needed to go apologise to Iskall.

Turning, Grian looked out over the mountains in the distance and took a breath. Dark clouds had swarmed over the valley they were in, approaching rapidly—it’d probably snow that night. Something was giving him a weird feeling about all of…something. He wasn’t sure quite what, not yet. Running a hand through his hair, Grian folded his wings back up into his sweater and ducked into the inn room. “Hey, Grian!” Scar greeted cheerfully. Beside him, Mumbo and Iskall were both reading books. Iskall was running his bandaged fingers through Jellie’s fur. “What’s up? You look…well, off.” Grian met Iskall’s gaze. The assassin frowned in concern.

“Iskall…we need to talk.”

+++

“Cleo, your hair is so pretty.”

Running her fingers through Cleo’s hair, Stress started braiding the red-orange strands together with gentle hands. She’d clearly done this before. Not just when Cleo had seen her doing the boys’ hair, either. “Stress, you should be a professional…braid do-er.”

“A hairstylist?” Both of them chuckled lightly. Pulling Side Kit away from Etho, who was dozing for the first time in a while with his head in Stress’ lap (the druid had pulled him off of his perch on the balcony earlier because he had almost passed out from not eating; turns out _someone_ had been giving some of his food to the sick Hermits when he was worried about them and forgetting to take care of himself as a result), Cleo stroked the little fox’s head. She loved Etho (as a friend), she really did, but he could be _such_ an _idiot_ sometimes. Taking a breath, Stress replied, “I think I’m perfectly happy being a druid.”

“Heck yeah. Druids are where it’s at.” Both of them laughed, and Etho stirred for a little in Stress’ lap. Quieting down, Cleo glanced back at Stress and grinned, and Stress returned it easily. “He’s such an idiot.”

“Oh, definitely.” There was a bit of a tug when Stress found a knot, although it was teased out a second later and everything was perfectly fine. “Sorry.”

“Ah, I barely even felt it. Besides, I’ve faced a lot worse than just a few tugs when a friend’s braiding my hair.” Cleo waved a hand, and Side Kit yipped in her lap. “Ssh, be quiet. You’ll wake your dad up.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. Stress was focused on braiding. Cleo was focused on petting Side Kit. Etho was…probably focused on sleeping. _Do you actually focus on sleeping when you’re sleeping, though?_ She wondered, running her fingers through soft fur. Immediately after that, another, somewhat cursed thought ran through her head.

“Do you think that werefolk could interbreed with the animal they can turn into?”

Snorting, Stress looked at her. “ _What?”_ She hissed the word out, almost like she couldn’t quite believe it. Turning, Cleo looked at her, completely serious.

“Do you think that werefolk could interbreed with the animal they can turn into?”

“Cleo, you and Stress are _not_ going to have this conversation.” Both of them turned to see Ren walking in, a tray of food in his hands.

Grinning wickedly, Cleo shot back, “What if I _want_ to have this conversation?”

“I don’t.” Stress said quietly, and Etho mumbled something that sounded like affirmation. Ren sat down with his knees almost touching Cleo’s, set the food down next to him and started passing it out. “Oh, that smells great. How much did that cost, I can pay you bac—”

“Nope.” Ren met her gaze, and Cleo grinned to herself as she took a bite of the roll she’d been passed. Whether Stress liked it or not, she really wasn’t going to be able to pay Ren back. He wouldn’t let her. Even if that meant sneaking the money back to her when she tried (he’d done that before. After about the seventeenth time, Cleo finally gave in and let him just dismiss it as nothing). “Etho. Come on, man, wake up. You need food.”

Grumbling, Etho raised his head a bit, looked at them all while definitely channelling sleepy fox energy, and then set his head back in Stress’ lap. “Stress, you should just use him as a table.” Cleo offered. Sending her a concerned and slightly withering look, Stress glanced between Etho and Ren. Instead of offering to help, Cleo sat back and allowed the chaos to happen.

Clearly, Etho was just as stubborn as Ren was—at least at times.

+++

Tango knew it was a problem when he’d woken up to find Impulse and Zedaph gone.

So, instead of just letting the pair wander about causing havoc (because they would. Sure, he and Impulse and Zedaph all had plenty of brain cells but sticking even two of them together at any point meant they collectively shared one. Ninety percent of the time, the one who _wasn’t_ around had it), Tango grabbed Python and Bdubs and ran off to find them. They didn’t leave a note, which _probably_ would have helped, but they had more pressing matters. Like having a sick, fire-breathing, dragon-winged former thief and an also sick, _teleporting_ half-elf bard running around the town they were currently based in with no supervision, no food, and possibly nothing more than a few layers.

And, of course, it was _snowing._

“I can’t believe they’re _this stupid_.” Tango grumbled, striding along while rubbing his arms and shivering. He was _not_ made for this weather. Nope, he would have preferred to be somewhere decidedly more _warm._ Like maybe the _coast._ The mountains? Not really his thing. He liked arid heat a _whole lot more_ than _snowy mountains_ where you could step in a puddle without thinking and then drop into a pothole. “No, wait, actually, I can. We all have one collective brain cell and most of the time, none of us have it.”

“Right now, it appears that you have it.” Python commented, and Tango turned to look at him.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to reassure me or if you’re trying to roast me.” Blinking, Python tilted his head to the side. “Never mind. Bdubs, any prophetic visions of yours telling us where to look?”

Bdubs sent the sky a withering look. Whether it was directed at Tango or someone else, or possibly whatever deity Bdubs had aligned himself with (that was what warlocks did, right? They aligned themselves with a deity? Or was that clerics…?), he wasn’t really sure. It did look plenty more exasperated than one would expect from the happy-go-lucky man Bdubs naturally was, though. “Unfortunately, visions don’t really work that way. Most of them are for dramatic, life-changing events. Like Thylama being destroyed by a lightning-spitter.”

“Ah, yes, because Thylama tried killing you.” Python mused, nodding sagely. Both of them looked to him. Blinking, yellow eyes glittering in the sunlight beaming through the grey clouds, he glanced to the side and asked, “I’m a cleric. I know things.”

_Clearly._ Tango thought, mind darting back to when they’d first met Python. If what he’d said about his dad _was_ true… _it doesn’t matter right now. Let’s find Impulse and Zedaph before they manage to blow something up…again._

They walked on through the various roads, boots crunching in the slush.

Against all hope, Tango really did want them to find Impulse and Zedaph soon. He’d had to wander through icy, snowy areas before without boots on, and it had sucked. His feet, hands, and tail had gone all numb and started to turn white and the second group of people he came across (the first were bandits, who let him go because he apparently needed the money more than they did) had told him it was frostbite. Thawing his limbs out had _not_ been fun, and he really hoped Impulse and Zedaph weren’t in the same state. Sure, they were in the middle of a town, so someone would hopefully find them before they were too hurt, but there was no telling whether that person would be good.

There was no telling if that person would want to take advantage of Impulse or Zedaph.

After all, Impulse had hidden his wings for a reason. _Does he count as a Cy’Ratha? Would someone try and hunt him?_ Taking a breath, Tango counted the cobblestones peeking through the dirt-stained slush beneath his feet, barely even walking so much as just…not running. _What happens if someone thinks that he counts as one? What if they—_

“Tango!” An arm was thrown around his neck and he went stumbling to the side, barely able to catch his own weight, let alone someone else’s. There was a flash of blond hair and then Zedaph’s legs sort of…gave out underneath him. “Hi.”

“Hey, Zed. Why are you acting drunk?” Tango asked, getting right to the point and looking at Zedaph’s face. His pupils were normal, even with the distinct flush across his face. _Not drunk. Feverish?_ Pressing the back of his hand to Zedaph’s cheek, Tango grimaced at the immediate heat there. _Definitely feverish._ “Okay, let’s get you to a doctor or something. You’re hotter than earlier.”

Scoffing, Zedaph mused, “I’ve always been _hot_ , you don’t need to compliment me like that. You’re pretty, too.” Glancing at Bdubs, who looked as confused as he felt, Tango gestured to Zedaph as a clear plea for help. “Oh, hi, Bdubs! I didn’t see you there.”

“I think he’s worse.” Tango mused, and Bdubs helped him get Zedaph on his feet. “I’ll carry him.”

“Are you sure? He’s kind of…” Zedaph’s knees buckled again and he went back, laughing. “Are we sure he isn’t drunk?”

“As far as I can tell it’s just fever. Python, can you—” Turning, Tango found that the dragonborn was nowhere to be seen. “Damnit. We’re taking you to a healer—Bdubs, help me get him on my back.”

“Yay, piggyback ride!” Zedaph laughed a bit more, and Tango decided to blame it on a fever. _He can’t be hypothermic. Not with a fever. Right?_ Shuddering at the thought, Tango made sure Zedaph wasn’t going to fall, then started following Bdubs. Sure, they got some weird looks, but there were a lot more sympathetic ones. It was pretty obvious Zedaph was sick—no one in their right mind would see snow and think “ah, yes, I can totally walk out in a light sleep shirt and shorts with no shoes”. The half-elf didn’t even have _socks_ on.

_I am_ not _looking forward to how Impulse is going to be acting._ Tango sighed, watching his breath fog out in front of them. Shivering again, he glanced over when Bdubs threw a scarf around his neck. Shrugging, the man put his gloves and beanie on Zedaph and said, “I have two daughters back home. It’s a lot colder there, I’ll make it.”

Smiling, Tango nodded, then looked ahead. “When we find Python, I’m going to—” Glancing in a store window, he paused. “Oh. Nevermind, he saved us some work.” Bdubs followed his gaze. Inside the store, which appeared to sell books and coffee, Python was holding a very sleepy-looking Impulse up while talking to one of the dragonborn cashiers. “Let’s go in and check it out.”

It was a pretty nice shop, all in all. The moment Tango and Bdubs stepped inside, a little bell above the door rang. Both of them kicked some of the snow off their boots. Tango winced when Zedaph dug his icy-cold nose into the scarf (and, as a result, Tango’s neck). _Is it going to be worse when we walk out?_

Python turned to look, Impulse slumping against him even more. “Oh, hello. these are the young men that I was talking about. Bdubs, Tango, this is Draldaaxuudar Faelarys and Crxiash Sothyra.” He indicated each of them in turn. Faelarys, a blue dragonborn with white freckles under her eyes and matching frills where Tango guessed her ears were, dipped her head and smiled. Sothyra, a copper-scaled dragonborn, smiled as well, but didn’t do the little bow her friend did.

“Hi, I’m Tango. I’d wave, but this guy kind of has my hands full right now.” Tango joked, nodding back at Zedaph. Grinning, Faelarys turned to Sothyra and started signing something. Considering the fact Tango didn’t even recognise the signs, when he knew some he knew would probably have shown up (such as _“I”_ or _“me_ ” or something like that), he guessed the dragonborn probably had their own version of signing. _That’s pretty cool. I wonder if Hypno knows that._

Nodding, Sothyra signed back, then turned to Tango and started talking. “She says it’s alright. Is he sick?”

“Yeah, he and this one.” Bdubs indicated Impulse, who he moved to take from Python. Just like Tango had feared, Impulse’s wings were on full display for everyone in the shop to see. Sure, most of them didn’t seem to care, but even just thinking of someone deciding maybe they didn’t like it…Tango glanced around to catch their surroundings again.

Python, however, didn’t let Bdubs grab Impulse. “Impulse and I have some important…discussions to have. I’m afraid I can’t let you take him.”

“What? Python, he’s sick.” Tango argued, and Python blinked.

“I am well aware of that, but I’m a cleric of the Life Domain. Do you not trust my abilities?” Blinking, Tango hesitated and then stepped back. “I will take him to the doctor afterwards. Sothyra, Faelarys, do you mind telling them where the doctor is? Impulse and I must take our leave.” The dragonborn ladies nodded, and Python paid them. Without another word, he took Impulse and left, and Tango stared after them while Bdubs got directions.

His eye was drawn to someone else in the shop. This one wasn’t a dragonborn, nor were they browsing the shelves like they were trying to pass off. Staring at them with narrowed eyes, Tango turned just enough that he could keep watch in his peripheral, studied them. Zedaph shifted on his back, arms tightening around Tango’s neck just a bit. The stranger, however, turned to look at Tango full-on. Purple eyes bored into Tango’s own red, chilling him through his clothes and flesh all the way to his soul, not just the bone.

Then, the person vanished.

Not in a burst of smoke. One moment, they were there. The next, they weren’t. Shuddering, Tango tried to shove his uneasiness back down. For right now, Zedaph needed to be their worry. They needed to get him to a doctor, get him treated, and then either take him back to the inn or wait with him until he was well enough to go.

A hand clapped down on Tango’s shoulder, and he almost leapt out of his skin. “Whoa, Tango. You alright?” Turning to Bdubs, he smiled weakly. It was weak and pathetic, he knew that full well. “Hey, I have the directions to the doctor. Why don’t we go get Zedaph there and then figure out what to do after? That sound good?”

Nodding, Tango glanced back at where the person had been a moment before, then turned back to Bdubs, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

+++

Grian and Iskall settled down on the balcony outside one of the empty main rooms of the inn, blankets wrapped around their shoulders even with the warm clothes they already had.

Of course, it wasn’t like the balcony was _exposed_ to the snow. For the most part, they were covered by a small awning, and shielded from the wind by glass windows with intricate patterns in the wood supports. “It’s very…nice out here.” Iskall said awkwardly, breaking the silence. Nodding, Grian bit his lip and then looked outside at the moon where it showed through thin whispers of clouds. Snow pattered down outside, frost edging thin fingers up the windows. “So…what did you want to talk about?”

Taking a breath, Grian closed his eyes. _Come on, Grian. It’s now or never._ “I…I wanted to apologise. For that night.” Iskall made an inquisitive sound, and Grian continued, “The night we got into the fistfight.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” A moment passed, and Grian tugged the blankets tighter around him. “And I wanted to apologise for every moment after. It wasn’t right, and Cub is. Right, I mean. If I want to be on this trip, on this _team_ , then I need to behave like I actually want to be here. And…punching teammates in the nose doesn’t exactly show that I want to be here. So…I’m sorry.”

Iskall paused for a second. “I forgive you…if you can do the same for me.” Nodding, Grian met his gaze and smiled, and Iskall returned it. Shifting, the assassin asked, “What happened that night, Grian? You seemed upset.”

Looking at the ground, Grian counted the grooves in the wood. “I had a…I was having a dream. Well, a nightmare. You…I had to watch you strangle Taurtis with your bare hands.”

“Taurtis. Your friend?” Iskall asked, and Grian nodded.

“One of the Cy’Ratha. He would’ve had a pretty high price on his head.” Shuddering at the thought of Sam’s laugh, Grian met Iskall’s gaze again. “Did you…did you catch him? When you were chasing him?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Iskall admitted, “I’m pretty sure he’s the one I was chasing when I was eaten by that fish, like I said.” He took a breath, tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. “If I’m remembering right, and I do, I was tracking Taurtis for about…twenty days when that happened. The first week of that, of course, was just trying to get his location. He was a very hard person to find.”

Laughing softly, Grian mused, “I’d imagine.”

Iskall continued in a soft tone, “Actually, I found him almost completely by accident. I was looking at one of the boards, deciding whether or not I could afford skipping his bounty and going for another one.” When Grian tilted his head in question, Iskall laughed and said, “I have a…debt to pay, of sorts. That’s why I took the job. Anyways, he was standing beside me, and he—I was looking at them, and he turned and asked me who I was after, and then I saw him. He must have realised I recognised him, the next thing I knew he was off in the sky.”

“How did you catch up to him?” Iskall hesitated. Leaning closer, Grian repeated, “Iskall…how did you catch up to him?”

Iskall hesitated, shame painting his features. “I—the Glaedirians…” He took a shaky breath, rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “I caught up to him because I was flying.”

Grian’s heart dropped to the floor.

“What?” A dim memory came back to him, and he looked out the window. _They didn’t. They_ couldn’t.

_Sam would._

“So-some of the scientists. They figured out some kind of…magic, I guess. They targeted the—they targeted certain kinds of Cy’Ratha first.”

“The raptors. Non-elementals.” Nodding, Iskall kept his gaze on the floor. Grian bit the inside of his cheek, biting back a few stronger curses. “I _knew_ there was something off about that. I always thought it was because the raptors were generally faster, although I never knew why they didn’t attack air type elementals.” Turning back to Iskall, Grian asked, “They gave you someone else’s wings?” He nodded, once. “How?”

“I—I don’t remember that part. Everything sort of goes black. I woke up and then I had wings. And this.” He indicated his eye. “It’s like the binoculars I used before…before the king summoned me.” Crossing his arms, he leaned back, face twisted with something between pain and disgust. “They called it a _blessing._ I don’t think they can track me with it, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Really?”

“Well, I think the tracking part of it might have broken. Otherwise, I’d be dead by now.” Laughing, he added, “Considering Python’s response, they might think I’m dead, anyways. Would be if I went back there.”

Both of them fell silent again.

Swallowing, Grian forced a few words out, choking on them a bit more than he cared to. “What—what happened after that, Iskall?”

Iskall thought for a moment, tilting his head from one side to the other. “Well, I was on his tail for a while. I’d say…probably ten days before I really managed to catch up to him. He’s a fierce fighter.” Huffing a laugh, Grian studied the frost as it curled on the windowpanes. “Three days after that, we were flying along the coast. I think he was hurt, he was flying oddly.”

“Right wing?” Iskall nodded, and Grian repeated the gesture. “It’s an old injury. From a…from an accident. It acts up when he’s been flying for too long.” There was another few heartbeats of silence. Iskall watched him. Even though he had the chance, however, Grian added nothing on. So, Iskall continued.

“Well, you kind of know the story from there. I was about to catch up to him, and then I got swallowed by the giant fish thing.” Iskall sighed, then rubbed a hand up and down his face. “I’m glad it happened. If it hadn’t…I don’t know where I’d be now.”

“Probably not here.” Grian replied, and both of them laughed. Looking out the window, Grian mused, “And Taurtis _definitely_ wouldn’t be…wherever he is, right now.” Another quiet moment passed. Once again, Iskall broke it.

“Grian, I know it’s not worth very much…but I do swear on my life that that’s what happened. It was only me. I don’t think anyone else would have managed to find him.” Grian laughed once, still looking out at the storm. “At least, my life isn’t worth very much to me.”

Frowning, Grian blinked. “Iskall, I trust—” he cut off when he turned to look, face dropping. “Iskall?” There was a sword pointed at him. Not the blade.

Iskall was offering him the hilt, holding the scabbard.

When he was younger, Grian would hang out with Taurtis and Sam and watch some of the Glaedirian knights. He’d seen a few people do the very same thing that Iskall was doing then, offering their sword to someone else. Most of the time, it had been during training, occasionally as a joke or an apology after an offensive statement that hurt the other person’s feelings (at least from what he could gather from context clues). Once, however, he’d seen it in a tournament, in front of the entire kingdom.

Iskall was, though nonverbally, saying that, if Grian wanted to…he could kill him then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: The Hermitcraft Cursed Crown AU (that’s my nickname for it but you can still call it THatQftCC because I pronounce it “that quack” for fun) finally has a tumblr. It’s literally just “hermitcraftcursedcrownau” because I couldn’t think of anything else. Anyways, we’ll have some of the fanarts uploaded there shortly, I just need to collect them (we have some really awesome ones) and get them all organised into their own posts. You’ll find stuff there like fanart, some possible preview scenes, updates on hiatuses and chapters, and the like there. (I do have some of the fanart collected already—I think two of them, actually—and they’ll be posted soon I just want to do something first!)  
> On a less story-related note, my guinea pigs were freaking me out because they’re muttering to themselves, which just means they’re content and happy. It’s still a weird sound, because most of the time they’re sleeping (and they sleep with their eyes closed! I think Naia does it more often, but that might just be because she’s got more ginger than Tsuki does, and since Tsuki’s mostly black and white it’s harder to tell, but that means they trust us!)  
> Y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing. Thank you for being so patient, thanks for reading, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next chapter (which hopefully will be up in like an hour?!)


	22. XIXb: Dragonborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impulse and Python talk about some recent developments. Skizzle confronts Grian on why he left, revealing more about Grian’s backstory and the Cy’Ratha.   
> Oh, and there’s also some sick Hermits who cause some chaos.   
> ~  
> Part two of two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenge mode for this fic! Don't use a Galactic translator for when it comes up, use context clues! (Lol you don't have to if you don't want to). Anyways, this is the second part of the last chapter, hence why the summary is the same. Uh...that's basically it, I didn't have any plans to have a second set of notes so...yeah.  
> Let's do this!

False stepped out of the bathroom and immediately regretted it, because being soaking wet from having just taken a shower and then the distinct lack of a heating system in the hallways meant that it was _freezing._

_I miss Tiaa’ma_ , she mused. It wasn’t the first time. Shaking her head, she pulled her shirt on, settled the towel around her shoulders so she didn’t soak her outfit with her hair, and then started heading back to the rooms. _No, I don’t. I don’t miss a thing about it._

_~~Of course you don’t. Why would you miss your parents? After all, you did abandon them.~~_

Pausing for a moment, False took a breath and rested her hand on the wood of the wall. Thick grooves left little miniature canyons in the planks, and she traced some of them with her eyes before walking again. She had not _abandoned_ her parents. Obviously. If she’d had a _choice_ in something _pretty simple and very clearly outdated_ , then she would have stayed. She would have.

_~~Right, one hundred percent. As if you didn’t make your choice~~_ ~~so delightfully clear _when you ran off. How can you call yourself a paladin if you won’t even follow your own duties?_~~

Scoffing, she opened the door to their room and walked in. It was much warmer, although that probably had to do with the presence of Ren in the room. The man was like a portable furnace, she swore. He had given her a total of one hug, when they all separated for the winter and it was just beginning to grow cold, and she very nearly had refused to leave because _man_ he was like the dogs she had at home but bigger and a much better hugger because at least he didn’t lick her face.

Oh, wait, was comparing someone to a dog offensive?

“False!” Stress beamed so brightly it could probably fight the sun and win. “Come over here, we have dinner!”

Blinking out of her thoughts, False smiled and walked over.

+++

Getting a sick Zedaph home was easier said than done, apparently.

Not in the least because he was loopy. Actually, Tango would have _preferred_ the goofy, loopy near-drunken state. At least they could explain that to strangers. But nope! They were the Hermits! Apparently, that meant they could _not_ catch a break! Zedaph was sick, and he was acting drunk—

_And he—was— teleporting_.

This wasn’t controlled, either. They had no warnings. Well, they had some. Zedaph sneezed, he teleported. If he hiccupped, he teleported. Did he see another _fricking_ cat? He teleported! (Also, _why did this city have so many cats? Were they just attracted to Zedaph for whatever reason? Was he a natural cat-magnet?)_

On his back, Zedaph sneezed again, and Tango stopped in the middle of the road as he felt the half-elf’s weight disappear. He took a breath, turned to Bdubs, and calmly said, “If we don’t get Zedaph back soon, please kill me.”

Bdubs looked at him with an odd expression. It was only there for a moment. Before Tango could do anything other than process it, Bdubs erased it and laughed, jokingly saying, “Oh, sure. Sure, just ask the person who really can’t do that much damage to kill you.”

“Hey, you can do plenty of damage. You’re a Warlock! Besides, can’t you make your cat bigger?”

“That was Scar.”

Staring at the cobblestones, Tango forced out, “oh.” Then he froze. “Wait, _where’s Zedaph?”_

“Right, he sneezed and went that way. Come on!” They ducked down an alley, glancing around. There was a hay cart…and there was Zedaph. “Oh my gosh.”

“This guy is going to be the death of us both.” Tango sighed, and they both walked over. Zedaph was absolutely covered in cats, sick as a dog and currently snoring away. Touching his shoulder, Tango gently shook him awake and winced at the heat rolling off of him. “Come on, man, this isn’t helping you in the slightest. Let’s get you home, okay?”

Mumbling, Zedaph snuggled deeper in the hay, nose wrinkled up. Tango sent a flat look to Bdubs, leaned in, and then grabbed his friend before hauling him out of the cart. “Tango…leave me alone…wanna sleep.”

“You can sleep at the inn once we’ve gotten you to a doctor, you’re sick.” Zedaph mumbled something irritably, and Tango rolled his eyes and kept following after Bdubs. Snow continued to drift down around them. For a second as he breathed in the cool, crisp air around them, Tango could almost imagine he was somewhere else.

Shoving the thought down, he kept walking.

+++

Iskall kept his head down, sucking in a quiet breath through his mouth as Grian stood up and reached for the hilt.

Their fingers brushed for a moment, and Iskall shook slightly like he was actually expecting Grian to take it. To kill him. Taking a breath, Grian dropped his fingers. “Taurtis wouldn’t want that.”

Wide eyes darted to him. Looking away, Grian kept his eyes on the wood. In the corner of his vision, he saw Iskall nod silently, once. Then, he sat back and started talking again. “What do you know of the gladiator king?”

Glancing over, Grian swallowed and then reached into his pocket. Pulling out the little emblem that Skizzle had given him, he spoke himself, “Do you know the story of the Fire and Ice Wars? In Glaedir?”

+++

A wolf with a white leg and chest padded through a snowy forest.

Small white flakes drifted down to paint its reddish-brown fur, and it lifted its head to look around. As it moved, it sniffed the air a few times, padded on silently as if it wasn’t there at all. As if it were more ghost than living, breathing creature. Wide paws found their way to a path two people had recently trod and followed along, muzzle low to the ground and open, breath fogging out in the winter-laden landscape. The wolf came to a clearing, where the pair stood.

One, the red-scaled dragonborn cleric Clethtinthallar Pandjed, stood in front of a sickly-looking young man with brown hair and golden eyes. Yellow-gold scales freckled the human’s cheeks, matching the wings that fanned out behind him. Trotting over to a rock that poked out of the snow, the wolf settled down calmly and flicked its tail around to watch them, the spindly branches of a dormant tree spiking the sky above it almost like some sort of throne or crown.

Stalking around his new trainee in the clearing, Pandjed—also known as Python—began to speak. “You know of the Cy’Ratha, yes?”

“Obviously. We have one on our team.” Impulse said, turning to look at Python with eyes somewhat fogged by fever. Shivering, he rubbed his arms, tail twitching against the snow. “Python, can we please keep this short? I want to go back to the inn.”

_He sounds much more coherent than before,_ the wolf mused with a snort, resting its chin on its paws and watching them with bright eyes. Inhaling, it blew some of the snow forwards, kept Python’s gaze for a moment before flicking its ears again. A rabbit bounced along the snow, and the wolf studied it for a few moments before looking back to Python.

“Alright, we can keep it short. We’re going to discuss your new fire-breathing capabilities. And you’re wrong, by the way.” Python commented, tilting his head to the side. “If you’d asked Grian, you’d actually know.”

“Wrong? What do you mean?” Python didn’t answer, digging through the snow. Shaking, Impulse demanded, “Python! I need answers! Being cryp—cryptic isn’t helping anything!” The dragonborn didn’t answer, humming to himself and still drawing out something in the snow. “Python!”

Raising its head, the wolf flicked its tail and huffed, then barked. Both Impulse and Python looked to it, but narrowed eyes focused on Python instead. Tossing its head up a little bit, the wolf rose to its feet and barked again, flicking its ears and tail almost in a sort of language.

Holding up his talons, Python sighed. The wolf snorted, sat down in the snow once again and wrapped its tail around its back paws like a cat. There was a distinct sort of look that almost said _Don’t make me come over there._ As if the wolf were some sort of parent.

“Alright. Alright. Impulse, you know the dragonborn are descendants of dragons, in a way, yes?” Impulse nodded, and Python continued, “There are more than just the bird-winged kind of Cy’Ratha. I know of one other kind—a cross between Cy’Ratha and dragons. You and your friend Skizzle are perfect examples of this.”

“So…we’re Cy’Ratha?” Striding over to the rock, Impulse sunk down and hid his face in his hands. “Can we just keep anything _normal?_ First we have a _Cy’ratha_ on our crew, which I don’t even know how that works. Now Zedaph is teleporting. We have this wolf following us all the time—hi, by the way.” The wolf straightened up and snorted, then pressed against him like it was trying to reassure him. “There was the whole thing in Thylama, then we have you and Jevin’s turning into a Visho and Doc is a Cryor, False and TFC are elf nobility, Joe’s a bard but I’ve never heard him sing—”

The wolf snorted at that, almost like it was laughing. Impulse glanced over at it. Meanwhile, Python gave it a long-suffering look.

Looking at Python, Impulse sighed and asked, “Python, what is all of this? I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“You’re not. Believe me, it’s weird.” Python shot a look at the wolf again. “In some cases, incredibly weird. But you’re not going crazy. Much like how blue dragons breathe lightning, so can Skizzle. He’s learned how to harness his powers. You, like a gold dragon, can breathe fire.” Holding a scaly hand out, Python added, “I can help train you, Impulse. If you want me to.”

Next to Impulse, the wolf nudged him. Glancing over, he exchanged a look with Python and then paused. Dipping its head, the wolf glanced over at Python and made a move as if to say _go on._ Turning back, Impulse took a breath.

“Okay.”

+++

“Well, it seems like you’re doing a wonderful job where you are,” the woman said, handing over some rope and something that could work for Jevin’s pain medication. Smiling at TFC, she mused, “Thank you for that.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.” He replied, passing her the coins and then placing the supplies in his satchel. Looking to Doc and Hypno, he mused, “Let’s get Doc to that doctor.”

Smiling, Hypno signed, _“That seems like some kind of joke.”_

Hissing lightly, Doc scolded, “If you make some kind of joke about my name being Doc and a cleric going to a doctor, Hypno, I’m going to get you sick.” Hypno scoffed and stuck his tongue out at him, then started signing again.

_“Impossible. I’m a monk. I couldn’t get sick if I tried.”_

“Well, you wouldn’t be the one trying and I can guarantee that being sick is a lot better than—”

“Boys.” TFC stepped in. Both of them looked to him, and he sighed. “Let’s hurry to the doctor, grab the medication, and then be back. We were only supposed to be gone for an hour and we’ve been gone for three.”

“You’re the one shopping.” Doc muttered grumpily, but still followed with Hypno as TFC moved. Boots clicked on snow-dusted cobblestone streets, and Hypno slung his bag a little higher up on his shoulder with a smile as he looked around at the bright decorations covering the bannisters and balconies all around them. “Looks like they’re having some sort of celebration.”

“The beginning of the new year. And the birth of the Frost Phoenix.” TFC mused, running his fingers over one of the silver and blue tapestries hanging from one of the buildings.

_“The Frost Phoenix?”_ Hypno echoed, and Doc repeated the question to TFC since the elf’s back had been turned.

Smiling, he began to explain, “a hero to the dragonborn. They’re not huge fans of the Glaedirian king, either. According to their mythos, they and the dragon-winged Cy’Ratha—most of which are entirely wiped out—are closely related, so a lot of clans simply view bird-winged Cy’Ratha as relatives, too. Like the difference between the Clethtinthallar and Crxiash clans. Anyways, they had a prophecy about a bird-winged Cy’Ratha born with two-toned wings—red and blue—who would come and destroy the current Glaedirian monarchy.”

“Wow. That’s harsh.”

“Well, it’s not like the monarchy is benevolent. King Samuel is a murderer. They celebrate the Frost Phoenix’s birth because he was killed in the Cy’Ratha slaughter.” Tipping his head to the side, TFC added, “There’s another Cy’Ratha in the legend. Four, technically. Two are draconic, two are…not. They may not actually be bird-winged, I’ve heard rumours of another kind of Cy’Ratha but I think those are little more than myths. In all honesty, Python probably thinks that Impulse is part of that.”

_“Impulse?”_ Doc echoed. When TFC nodded, Doc scoffed, “I—I’m sorry, no offence to Impulse, he’s brilliant, but…I think they’d have chosen someone else for a prophecy than some thief from an unknown village.”

_“Maybe not. After all, it seems like we’re part of some prophecy. Haven’t you felt it?”_ Hypno asked, and Doc looked to him.

“I hate to break it to you, Hypno, but I’m an atheist.” He swallowed, cleared his throat, and continued, “I don’t think those prophecies are anything more than problematic piles of nonsense, made to keep most of the common people underneath the thumb of corrupt authorities.”

_“Then why are you a cleric?”_

“I made the mistake of showing an interest. Believe me,” looking at the tapestries, Doc scoffed, “believing in anyone other than yourself is a mistake.”

They all went quiet for a while.

Then, Hypno jokingly bumped hips with Doc. _“Come on, Cryor. Don’t be so moody. Besides, I think it’s nice to have a little hope.”_ Looking at the tapestries, he added, _“And I think they’re pretty.”_

“I think they’re an opiate of the masses. Forgive me for stepping on any toes, though.” Doc scoffed, looking ahead and then frowning. “Am I hallucinating? Or is that…Tango and Bdubs chasing after Zedaph?”

TFC and Hypno both looked ahead. Sure enough, their friends were chasing after their other friend as he stumbled down the road, holding a cat. _“Hold on, let me handle this.”_ Hypno mused. Striding over, he stood in front of Zedaph, grabbed the half-elf by the arm, and slung him over one shoulder like a sack of flour in a smooth motion.

Skidding to a stop, Tango and Bdubs both doubled over, panting. “Thanks…Hypno. You’re…a blessing.” Bdubs rasped, voice hoarse in the sharp winter air. Shrugging, Hypno adjusted his grip on Zedaph and started signing as best he could.

_“Not the first time I’ve had to do this.”_ Turning to TFC, he added, _“Let’s get these two to a doctor.”_

(When they got there, the doctor gave Zedaph some meds that put him out like a candle in a glass jar. And if she looked Doc up and down and announced, in a thick accent, “Vou need to get some sleep!” and bossed him around with the comment that Cryors acted invincible and never watched their health, no one commented on it. Except Hypno. He laughed. Silently, but still. Lots of laughing.)

+++

“Do you know the story of the Fire and Ice Wars? In Glaedir?”

Blinking, Iskall drew himself up, sheathing his blade. “Of course I do. I think everyone on the continent, maybe beyond that, knows what they are.” Grian took a shaky breath, shoulders trembling, and then pocketed the emblem again. His eyes darted up to meet Iskall’s. All of a sudden, the air between them had changed. It was as if the world knew some secret was about to be shared between them. “Grian?”

“I—there’s a lot more to the wars. There’s so much more, actually, Iskall, than—than I can explain.” Shaking, Grian sat back down again. Iskall reached across the space to touch his arm.

“Hold on, hold on. You don’t need to say anything more than what you’re comfortable with.” Iskall quickly said. Looking at him, Grian sucked in a breath and then looked away, out the window again. “You don’t need to say anything at all, Grian. Okay?”

“I—someone needs to know.” Hands shaking, Grian took a breath. “There was more going on in the Fire and Ice Wars. Th—the king wasn’t always the way he was. When he was younger, he was…different. He didn’t have the same killer streak. He had friends, the Frost Phoenix and the Blaze Phoenix. Two very powerful, but two _very_ young Cy’Ratha. There—the dragonborn here are celebrating the former’s birthday right now, they—they think he died during the Cy’Ratha slaughter. That he was killed.” Swallowing, Grian continued, refusing to meet Iskall’s gaze.

A small theory began to form in the back of Iskall’s mind, fluttering thin wings with a fragile delicacy. Any moment, it felt like the little spark might burn out, might be washed away by something else. Instead of trying to put words to it, though, he waited. He waited, and he let Grian talk.

Words were spoken, more than he could have imagined. Explanations of some side of Samuel that Iskall himself had never seen. Some of it sounded just…insane. There was no way that they could be the same being. No, the Samuel that Grian was describing and the murderer that Iskall had met many times in the throne room…there wasn’t any possibility that they could be the same.

Except, as Iskall watched how Grian spoke of the younger Sam, the sad tones to his voice overtaken by grief and anger, he could piece an actual story together. Three children, growing up with the eyes of almost the whole world on them. Two destined to destroy the third. Despite that, they grew up as friends, playing and running around like any other kid…until things changed. Until they began to grow older, began to realise _why_ people paid attention to them. Until wings sprouted from two of the boys’ backs and their feathers spoke their destiny into word. Until dragons began to bow when they all passed, until whispered rumours began to be spoken in crowds.

Until the younger Samuel _became_ the man that Iskall knew him to be.

“And he—he had a—he would hurt the others. Obviously, they didn’t—they didn’t _want_ what was forced on them, the destiny and the _hate_ and all of the looks. He didn’t care.” Looking to the side, Grian forced himself to keep speaking. Iskall took a breath, watched him. “Some of it wasn’t that bad. Obviously, not everything he did was horrible, there were moments where he was, y’know, actually a pretty decent friend. But then there were—there were other times where he—he was _different_. Like something else had control of him.” Eyes flicking up, Grian weakly smiled and asked, “You know?”

“I know.” The way Grian was holding onto his arms, like he was trying to reassure himself, like he was trying to grab something back that he could never have again, spoke more than the actual words did. Even though Iskall hated himself for it, he prompted, “What else happened?”

“The—the Cy’Ratha fled. They left, went their own separate ways. One of them vowed to find some—someplace where they could both live freely, without having to worry about prophecies or—or destinies or _Sam_ ever again.” Looking to the side, Grian spat out, “The other was a coward. A killer. He went home, tracked down his parents. Sure, he got them for a few months, but he cost his whole race _everything.”_

_Oh, Grian._ Shuddering, Grian sucked in a breath and stared out past the swirling wind outside. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You’re not quoting a history book,” Iskall whispered, and Grian’s eyes flicked to him, “you’re quoting your life. Aren’t you?”

+++

Skizzle crouched behind the door, knives in hand, and watched the conversation within.

Pacing around the room, Xisuma swallowed nervously. His helmet was off, hands shaking as he strode around in a few tight circles and looked back at Keralis. “I can’t—I can’t control it. I’m—I’m having nightmares, and the—then I wake up and it’s the middle of the night and the—and there’s magic travelling along my arms.” Keralis got up and walked over to him, gently taking his arm. Pulling the sleeve back and removing the gloves, the druid sucked a breath in. Skizzle leaned forwards and froze.

There, curling from Xisuma’s fingertips to the underside of his wrist and travelling to his elbow, were dark purple lines that pulsated with magic.

_Void_ magic, too. Taking a quiet breath, Skizzle stared in at them. “How long has this been happening, Xisuma? The nightmares?” Xisuma swallowed, chest heaving like he was about to go into a panic attack. Voice strikingly calm, Keralis repeated, “Xisuma? How long?”

Xisuma said something that Skizzle didn’t recognise for a moment. Then, he said something more, and the bells struck. “S𝙹ᒲᒷℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣'ᓭ ∴∷𝙹リ⊣. S𝙹ᒲᒷℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣'ᓭ ∴∷𝙹リ⊣, ⍑ᒷ'ᓭ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ ᓵ𝙹リℸ ̣ ∷𝙹ꖎ. I ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ⍑╎ᒲ ℸ ̣ 𝙹.” The shaky cadence gave away more than just what Skizzle feared. _Who’s he? And how can he take over someone?_ He wondered, frowning and gripping his weapons tighter.

Chills ran up his spine when Keralis responded in Galactic. “T⍑ᒷ k╎リ⊣ 𝙹⎓ d𝙹⍊ᒷᓭ?” Closing his eyes, Skizzle prayed that he wouldn’t have to do what he feared. That he wasn’t right.

“Yᒷᓭ.” Stammering, Xisuma forced out, “I-i'ᒲ ∷ᒷᒲᒷᒲʖᒷ∷╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ ⍑╎リ⊣ᓭ. T⍑╎リ⊣ᓭ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ᒷリ'ℸ ̣ ᒲ╎リᒷ. I ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ --i ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖌリ𝙹∴ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ --∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ|| ᔑ∷ᒷ. I ↸𝙹リ'ℸ ̣ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ⍑ᒷᔑ∷ ╎ℸ ̣ , ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ i--i'ᒲ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ʖᒷ╎リ⊣ ⊣╎⍊ᒷリ ᔑ ᓵ⍑𝙹╎ᓵᒷ. Pᒷ𝙹!¡ꖎᒷ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᓭᓵ∷ᒷᔑᒲ╎リ⊣, ↸||╎リ⊣. T⍑ᒷ _𝙹_ _ℸ_ _̣_ _⍑_ _ᒷ_ _∷_ _ᓭ_ ᔑ∷ᒷ ↸||╎リ⊣.” Keralis froze, fingers curling into his palm a little bit. His eyes jolted up to meet Xisuma’s. Crying out softly, the young man dropped to his knees. Keralis went with him.

Steeling himself, Skizzle prepared for what the conversation would next reveal. _What does he have to do with the King of Doves…people dying…come on, Skizzle, you were warned about this._ Yes, he had his obligations to Impulse. One of those was to protect him. To protect his friend.

And if that meant killing Xisuma and Keralis…

So be it.

Holding Xisuma’s hands, Keralis let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, S⍑╎ᓭ⍑∴ᔑᒲᒲ||. Everything’s going to be fine. If you want to, we can leave. Just—just tell everyone, ‘hey, Xisuma told me he isn’t feeling great. We need to go and do a thing’. Does that sound okay?” Frantically, Xisuma started shaking his head. He’d cut his hair since the last time Skizzle had seen him without his helmet. Instead of reaching down almost to his shoulders, even the longest bits didn’t reach his ears. Purple freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, matched the colours of his eyes for once. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—” Gasping, Xisuma switched back to Galactic, “M|| ʖ∷𝙹ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ∷. T⍑ᒷ|| ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖌ╎ꖎꖎ ⍑╎ᒲ. A⍊ᔑℸ ̣ ᔑ∷ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ᓭ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖌ╎ꖎꖎ ⍑╎ᒲ. Hᒷ'ᓭ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ↸ᒷᓭℸ ̣ ∷𝙹||--⍑ᒷ ∴ᔑリℸ ̣ ᓭ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ʖ∷ᒷᔑꖌ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ w𝙹∷ꖎ↸ mᔑꖌᒷ∷ ᔑリ↸ ᒲᒷ, ⍑ᒷ ꖌリ𝙹∴ᓭ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ i ᓵᔑリ ↸𝙹, ⍑ᒷ'ᓭ ⊣𝙹╎リ⊣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ꖌ╎ꖎꖎ ᒷ⍊ᒷ∷||𝙹リᒷ--”

Eyes widening, Keralis slapped a hand over Xisuma’s mouth. “Don’t say that name. Xisuma, _never say that name again_ , do you understand?” Frantically, Xisuma nodded, and Keralis sighed in relief. Sitting back on his heels, he continued, “Alright. We’re going to have to—to figure something out.” They kept talking, and Skizzle closed his eyes. He’d heard what he needed to.

He knew what he had to do.

_I’m sorry, Impulse._ Taking a breath, he snapped his eyes open, attached his blades to his bracers, and reached for the door. Before he could, though—

Cold steel pressed against his throat.

Holding up his hands, Skizzle chuckled weakly. “Hello, again. Wels.” The hellhound’s blue eyes narrowed, red flitting through them for a brief moment. Unless the others were looking closely, they probably wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. They wouldn’t have known. Behind him, Cub was watching with narrowed eyes. There were footsteps on Skizzle’s other side. “Jevin.”

“Well, there, friend.” Joe began, and Skizzle looked through the door. “I’d hate for there to be a…” Growling wolfishly, Wels pressed the blade to Skizzle’s throat again, eyes narrowing, “gory altercation. Why don’t you put those blades of yours away? We can go shoot the breeze…outside.”

Skizzle met the man’s gaze and knew, immediately, he didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

+++

Sighing, Grian ignored the question. “Sam did a lot more, before he was in power. He swore his friends to secrecy. He _murdered_ his own uncle, _slaughtered_ the rest of his family to keep himself on top. Of course, he was _Sam._ He could do nothing wrong.” The words were spat, and the energy changed from one of self-loathing to fiery, fierce anger. “If his friends spoke out about it, dared to even hint at the real state of things, he’d use his fiancée.”

“He’d threaten her?”

Letting out a bitter laugh, Grian replied. “No. She was— _she was the threat._ The amount of times I—the amount of times his friends would wake up in the prisons, forced to do something or other.” Shaking his head, he mused, “there’s a lot of scars they have. Gaslighting, manipulation, torture. You name it, Sam’s used it on someone. He’d cut off food for them, and if that didn’t work then he’d impose higher taxes on some poor section of the country. He’s destroyed Glaedir.”

Swallowing, Iskall nodded, “I know. Someone should remove him.”

“Someone should have done it a long time ago. The people who placed all the burden on the Phoenix should have realised they were kids. They were _all_ kids. And look where they are now.” Laughing bitterly, Grian said, “I haven’t seen Taurtis in years.” Pausing, he added, “Maybe I should have just taken Sam out myself when I had the chance.”

_He blames himself for the cull order._ Staring at his friend, Iskall held his gaze. “Grian, you were thirteen. What could you have done?”

Jolting to his feet, Grian looked down at him. “I could have done _something, Iskall!_ I got—I got my parents killed! I—” Shoulder shaking, he slowly sat down. Burying his face in his hands, he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, you don’t—you don’t need this. You don’t need to hear about this, it’s not fair to you. Th—thank you for telling me. About Taurtis.”

Grian moved to get up, and Iskall bit his lip. Moving on impulse, he grabbed Grian’s wrist. “Hold on.” Their gazes both met. Hesitatingly, Iskall spoke. “You owe me for punching me in the face.” Taking a breath, he said, “Tell me more?”

Grian stared at him for a second, shock pulsing through his face.

+++

“What did you do to them?”

Wels snarled, holding his sword at Skizzle’s throat again. Wrinkling his nose, Skizzle looked him in the eye and glared, eyes narrowing. “I would control yourself, _hound_.” He spat dangerously, adding, “I’d hate to see you have a little _meltdown_ with your _friend.”_

Snarling, Wels pressed the sword in deeper. Blood started welling up underneath the blade, and Skizzle stared at him coldly. Lightning and fire crackled in the air, splashed against one another and reared up to face off again and again. Dragon against hellhound. If it came down to it, Skizzle knew exactly who’d win. “Wels!” Cub grabbed the blond paladin’s shoulder and yanked him away. Meanwhile, Jevin glared down at Skizzle.

“And you,” Tilting his head, Skizzle took a breath. “Do you really think that it’s a good idea to be here? You’re turning into a Visho slowly, _agonisingly_. How long do you think you can get away with it?”

Jevin didn’t even flinch, staring down at him. Obviously, some sort of emotion must have crossed Skizzle’s face at this. “I’ve taken my fair share of insults, _Meadowlark-Caracara._ Believe me, I can handle a lot more than a verbal spat.” He replied. “And just because you think you can try and out Wels, it really doesn’t matter. We know.”

Glancing around, Skizzle studied who was around him. Biffa, xB, and Beef were standing guard in the door. Cub was speaking to Wels in harsh, quiet tones, Joe standing beside him. If he tried to get away…he’d really have to hurt all of them, and he knew none of them were the kind to stand to the side. No optimal hostages, all of them could fight too well or were almost too quick for him. He’d been stripped of his armour, tied to a chair with his wings and tail restrained, and now he had to deal with all of them while the real dangers remained free.

Still, he tugged at the restraints.

“I ∷ᒷᔑꖎꖎ|| ∴𝙹⚍ꖎ↸リ'ℸ ̣ ↸𝙹 ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣.” Came a voice from his left. Turning, he met the gaze of Joe.

“Joe Hills. How nice to see you outside of Glaedir.” Skizzle said, opening his mouth with a grin.

Frowning, Joe shot back with a powerful riposte. “ _Like I said, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”_ Pain shot through Skizzle’s chest, piercing through from his heart out. Grunting and sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Torture, huh?” In the hallway, he could hear footsteps. “Scar and Mumbo are coming. I don’t think you’ll like the news.”

“Let’s hope it’s something good for you.” Wels snarled from where he was, eyes shifting to their ruby red.

“Careful, puppy dog. We don’t want you to release the hounds of war. Or is Hels sitting there nice and quiet, wondering why Pack is fighting Pack?” He asked. Glaring at him, Wels bristled and took a step forwards. “Put your hackles down, I’m friendly. The World Maker—” Joe hissed something in Galactic and Skizzle let out a roar of pain, jerking against the bindings. Panting, he focused a glare on him. “Man, no wonder you’re from Glaedir. You and Iskall and Sam really are all cut from the same cloth, aren’t you? And the rest of you. Scar, Mumbo! I see you out there! Be glad the World Maker’s on your side! He’d rip you apart for what you’ve done.”

Mumbo and Scar both walked in. “Impulse? Python?” Cub immediately asked. Faces rent with concern and confusion, Scar and Mumbo both shook their heads.

“Almost everyone’s gone. Tagno, Zedaph, TFC, Grian and Iskall are gone, too. I have no clue where Doc or Hypno are.”

“They went with TFC to pick up supplies.” Mumbo said, biting his knuckle. “But they should have been back hours ago.”

“They won’t be. They’re busy.” Skizzle replied, “and I’m not the one you should be worrying about! There’s others!” He looked at Cub. “Come on! Don’t make the same mistake twice! This isn’t the same as last time.” Cub’s eyes narrowed at the words, and he marched towards Skizzle. “What is it, Caden Black? Is the _Champion of Y’mard_ going to threaten me more? Threaten to kill me? I’d expect that from Barclay, not you.”

Growling, Cub drew his sword. Immediately, the atmosphere of the room sharpened. Wels straightened up, eyes glinting with a kind of hellfire, maybe even a kind of bloodlust. Eyes narrowing, Joe straightened up a little bit more, and Jevin stiffened. “What have you done to Impulse and Python?”

“I haven’t done anything to them. _I’m not the one you need to worry about.”_ Cobalt blue eyes met dark ones, and Skizzle glanced at the steel blade braced at his throat before calmly saying. “I am not the one you need to worry about.”

“Then _who is?”_ Cub demanded. His grip on his blade never faltered for a second. Against the wall, Scar glanced over at Mumbo. The wood elf was watching. Concern knit his eyebrows together. Sitting on his shoulders, Jumbo tilted her head to the side, red eyes sparkling. At first, Skizzle didn’t reply, jerking his head away. Using the sword, Cub tipped the man’s head up so their gazes met again. “ _Who—is—it?”_ Skizzle glared at him for a moment.

“Xisuma, for starters.”

“Xisuma doesn’t even know how to control his own powers.” Beef pointed out sharply. Laughing, Skizzle jerked his head away from Cub’s blade away. Blood dripped from a thin gash on his chin.

“Xisuma doesn’t _want_ to _remember_ how to control his own powers. That’s why I said _for starters_. There’s not one Hermit you need to worry about, there’s _two_. If I’m right—and I hope to all the gods in this world that I’m _not_ —Xisuma may not actually matter. There’s someone worse holding the strings.” Glancing over, Skizzle met Cub’s gaze again. “And I think Cub here knows full well who I mean.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Shoulders dropping, he took in a breath. That was when Scar knew that there _was_ something credible to Skizzle’s words. He wasn’t trying to throw them off. Still, the name Cub said was not the one Scar expected.

“Keralis.”

+++

Zedaph giggled as Hypno carried him piggyback-style up the stairs of the inn to their room.

Sighing, Tango ran a hand down his face. “Sure, have all the fun that you want.” As he strode into the room, he paused when he realised how empty it was. Which was saying something, considering the fact that there were still six people that he hadn’t been with in there—Cleo, Ren, Etho, Stress, and False. And Side Kit, obviously. She counted as a people. “Wow. Where—where is everyone?”

Cleo looked up, concern crossing her face. “I don’t know—and that’s what scares me.”

+++

“You’re one of the—one of the Fire and Ice Cy’Ratha.” Iskall mused when Grian finished. “You’re—but I never met you. He never mentioned a Grian.”

“To him, Grian didn’t exist.” Lifting his head Grian replied, “I am one of the Fire and Ice Cy’Ratha.” Chills ran up Iskall’s arms.

Just because he expected it, theorised it, didn’t mean he wanted to know it was true.

Grian rose, shrugged out of his jacket, and extended his wings. Even though Iskall had seen them, once or twice, it had been when they were covered in blood or when it was dark. Even in the dim lighting of the moonlit balcony, from the pale gold streaming in from the inn room, Iskall could make out tones of fiery gold and bright orange underlying the normal, rich maroon and burgundy. They were fledgeling feathers, even with some of the adult colours shining through. By Cy’Ratha standards, Grian had been right—he was still practically a teenager compared to most of the others. Razor-sharp, bladelike feathers lined the outer edges, and Iskall dimly remembered those slashing into Scar.

“I am Grian, formerly known as Xelqua Brambling. The Fire Phoenix Cy’Ratha, Prince of Vyren and Advisor to Samuel Gladiator the First, King of Glaedir.” Taking a breath, he added, “And I take responsibility for everything that happened between you and I. Every punch and insult is on me, and I swear on my life—”

Grabbing at Grian’s arms, Iskall forced out, “Grian, _wait—”_

“No.” Looking at Iskall, Grian added, “I waited once, and it got the rest of my species slaughtered like animals. I’m not going to wait anymore. I think it’s about time that I take responsibility for my future,” Grian’s gaze darted to the side and he added, “it’s time I do what I should have done long ago. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“Grian, it’s not as simple as just saying—” Iskall forced out, but Grian smiled at him.

“I know. Vows are powerful. I swore myself to silence once, and it’s a mistake I’m not going to continue making. So I’m breaking it now. By my life, by the World Maker.” There was a _thrum_ in the air, like the world was beginning to go silent.

(Far in the distance, beyond what they knew, a wolf with a white chest and leg raised its head to the sky, focused dark eyes on the moon and exhaled softly.)

“I swear on my life,” Grian repeated, eyes sparking dangerously, gold swirling through the blue like fire burning over sapphire stones, “I _will_ kill Sam, or I will die trying, but no matter the cost he _will_ burn in my fire.”

+++

_Sometime in the Future…_

_When the dust cleared, only one of the men was left standing._

_Well, standing maybe wasn’t the right word for it. Neither was man, really. With golden magic dripping off of his form, glowing bright like steel in a dying sunset or glittering embers in a smouldering fire, he looked less humanoid and more godlike. Wings shaking, he stared down at the man underneath him, panting and blinking a few times, eyes gleaming like carnelian in sunlight. One fist was pounded into the dirt by his opponent’s head, and the god-looking one swallowed shakily._

_Underneath him, two broken wings were splayed out in the dirt. Blood streaked the feathers, painted them in a macabre display of the fight itself. Half-open, glazed eyes stared up. Either he was in shock, or he was dead. A moment passed, one where nothing in the earth nor sky nor sea moved or dared to breathe. Then, a small smile cracked the fallen man’s face. A shuddering breath rattled through his chest, and he wheezed out a few words._

_“Looks like…you won…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment between those two characters was repeated due to the context of the conversation between Iskall and Grian. Trust me, you’ll want it—that chapter may be a while in coming, but it’s still pretty important. Also, we’re going to be meeting up with another major character in a rather…unconventional way next chapter, “Storm’s Fall”, so…stay tuned for that!  
> Anyways, thanks for reading, I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


	23. XX: Storm's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group has to leave Python behind and begin travelling once more…and then immediately the group runs into issues with none other than an Athava. The thing is, this one…seems to know Xisuma? Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfic is the same length as one of my actual books. Anyways, remember that conversation Keralis and Xisuma had last chapter in Galactic? There’s a phrase called Chekov’s Gun, you may want to look it up.  
> Also, no, they’re not misgendering this character.

_“Well, hello there.” Joe mused, and the masked man in front of them bristled. His blade was still pressed against Grian’s throat, and the Cy’Ratha took a few shaky breaths as he grabbed at his attacker’s arm. “Why don’t we have a nice chat about this? After you put that knife of yours down.”_

_The glittering eyes on the visor of the helmet narrowed, and Grian swallowed nervously. A thin little trail of blood trailed down his neck from where the knife had nicked him. However, the man didn’t move._

_“Alright, then. You’re doing this the hard way.” Cleo replied, pulling out her own scimitar and stalking forwards, Brandishing the weapon, she said, “Come on. Fight me like an actual human would.”_

_“I’m not human.” The person spoke, then looked at Xisuma. “Am I? Xisuma?”_

_Xisuma said nothing._

_“Who do you think you are?” Tango moved between the pair, holding out his own weapons. Impulse and Zedaph flanked him. Despite that, Skizzle stayed back, watching the masked man with cold eyes. Almost like they knew each other. A chill ran down Scar’s spine as he watched them almost stare one another down._

_“That’s it.” Cleo charged forwards, and the man shoved Grian to the side. Dodging with a simple movement, he grabbed Cleo’s shoulder, jerked her back, and then leaned in. One of his hands pressed to her forehead, and Cleo stiffened up. Shoving her back, the man watched coldly as Cleo dropped to her knees, scimitar slipping from her hands to clatter on the ground. With a soft groan, she fell to the side, apparently unconscious._

_“What the hell?” Iskall whispered under his breath._

_Meanwhile, Ren sprinted to Cleo. “Cleo!” He skidded in his knees in the mud and grass. Grian pulled himself up, stared at Cleo as Ren pulled her into his arms with horror splashed across his features. Turning his head, Ren snarled, “What did you do to her?”_

_The man ignored him. Instead, he turned to look at the others. Purple magic began to spark between his fingers, flashing like rays of dawn being thrown out by the rising sun over the waters of a mountain lake. Swirls reached up his arms, darted around his wrists and elbows up to his shoulders and neck, spiralling over his chest. “Who’s next?” He called, voice ringing clear as crystal across the area. As he spoke, a chill ran through Scar’s chest again, as he stared at the man. That was when it hit him._

_“That’s an Athava.”_

+++

_Xisuma grabbed his shortsword, forced it closer and closer down._

_Keralis’ gaze held his, calmly. There was a kind of softness Xisuma had seen before. He’d seen when Keralis had rescued him from the prison in the High City. When he had been saved from the people trying to kill him. He’d seen it when Xisuma begged him to help him cut his hair to where it was now._

_And now Xisuma was forcing a shortsword towards his throat, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it._

_It wasn’t like Xisuma wasn’t trying. He was jerking at the reins of his mind, but it was like trying to control a runaway horse with no experience. Every jerk simply spurred it on._ No. No, what am I doing? No I need to stop _I need to stop I **need to stop!**_

_Screaming, Xisuma tore at the reins of his mind, jerked them back into his control. There was a burst of purple all around him, and he dropped to his knees with a ragged cry that tore at his throat. Reaching up, he grabbed his helmet and threw it to the side, panting and planting his hands in the dirt underneath him. One breath, two, just like he’d been taught._

_Taught?_

_Who taught him that? He didn’t remember—or maybe he did. Years ago, years before any of them were born—how old was he, anyways?_

_**Well. Look how strong you are.** A voice mused behind him. Looking up, Xisuma turned to see someone behind him. The voice from before, the one who tried to use a vision of Crown-Xisuma to trick him._

_“You.”_

_Laughing, the voice almost glittered. Pale lilac light filled the room, and Xisuma stepped back as a man appeared. **“Indeed. Hello, Xisuma. Or…X’isuma The sorcerer who no one really knows where your true powers lie.** The man walked over, stalked around him. Even as Xisuma watched, he couldn’t make anything out about the stranger’s features. Nothing more than a crown, a cold smile, the dangerous glint to his eyes. Anything else, he couldn’t even hope to make head nor tail of. The man slid a finger under Xisuma’s jaw, tipped his chin up so their eyes were meeting again. **So interesting. No wonder Keralis was so interested in paying attention to you.** _

**** _“Who are you?” Xisuma demanded, and the man stepped back._

_**Why, X’isuma—**_

_“Don’t call me that.” There was something about the man naming him that. Something inherently_ wrong _with it, although he didn’t know why. It was just something about it. “You don’t get to call me that.”_

_The man’s hand snapped out and grabbed him around the throat. Choking, Xisuma stared at him for a moment. **I can call you anything I want, X’isuma. You’re mine. Do you understand that? One day, we’re going to be on the same battlefield. If you want your friends to live, if you want**_ **Keralis _to live…_** _tipping his head to the side, the man mused, **Well, you’ll know what to do then, little one.**_

_With that, he turned and started walking away. Xisuma stared after him. “What are you? Who are you?” The man paused at the edge of…something. Whereveer they were. Turning, he sent a scoff over his shoulder and replied, the words sending a chill down Xisuma’s spine._

_**Why, I’m the King of Doves.**_

_He flicked his hands, and a burst of lilac light shot towards him. Xisuma couldn’t run. Glancing down, he saw purple swallowing his fingers, his feet and legs and creeping up over his whole body. “No. No. What did you do to me?” Looking up, Xisuma yelled, “What did you do?” The purple markings crawled over his face and—_

Xisuma bolted upright in his bed.

Panting, Xisuma stared at the pale purple freckles beginning to spread across the back of his forearms, beginning at the tips of his fingers in very deep purple. It’d spread even more. He placed a hand on his chest, felt the pounding of his heart, and then laid back and closed his eyes.

+++

Tango was half-awake, staring at the table in front of him while everyone else talked.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying to pay attention to everyone. However, there were _twenty-five Hermits_ all sitting at the _same damn table._ On top of that, the table was built to accommodate maybe _half_ that. Which meant, when they were all talking, _it. Was. Chaos._ So, Tango was sleep-deprived, because he’d been freaking out half the time and Zedaph and Impulse were both sick as all get out and then on top of that Tango had a feeling he was getting sick, too. From them. Specifically. He was pretty sure that Impulse and Zedaph were the _specific reason why he was getting sick._

He was also pretty sure that the person standing in the corner of his eye was real, but he wasn’t sure.

He could have been hallucinating.

“Python, are you sure you need to leave?” Scar asked softly, leaning forwards on the table to look at the dragonborn.

“Yes. I need to find…someone. A friend of mine.” Python explained, and Tango stared down at the grooves in the table. Blinking a few times, he swallowed and then looked to the side. Impulse was looking at him.

Leaning over, Impulse gently touched his arm. “Tango? Are you okay?” Looking up, Tango met his gaze. “Tango?”

“I think I’m hallucinating. There is a person in the corner of my eye. I have no idea if they’re real or not.” Pausing, Tango swallowed past the dry feeling in his mouth and then added, “Also…what would a three-dimensional hexagon be called?”

Frowning, Impulse asked, “What?”

Meeting his gaze, Tango repeated himself, “What. Would a three-dimensional hexagon. Even be called?”

Impulse blinked a few times, and then looked back down at the table. Beside him, Skizzle glanced over and then touched his arm. “Are you alright?”

“Skizz.” Turning, Impulse asked, “What would a three-dimensional six-sided shape be?”

Skizzle frowned, glanced at Tango, and then asked, “Do you mean a _cube?”_

Glancing over, Tango paused when he realised he was not, in fact, hallucinating the person staring at them. Getting up, he strode over and heard some of the others calling after him. Chairs scraped against the wood floor and Tango stumbled into a hallway.

The person was standing there, in armour that looked way too similar to Xisuma’s. _Do they know each other?_ Tango wondered, blinking a few times. The person’s gaze held his and he swallowed once. “Who are you?”

“Y𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷリ'ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭᒷᒷ ᒲᒷ.”

For a few moments, Tango just stared at him and stayed there, confused as all get out. Maybe it was his probably fever-addled brain, or maybe it was something off about the whole encounter. But he knew what wasn’t normal _and that wasn’t normal._

There was a rush around him, and a tightness in his chest. Like something was being pulled away. Around him, the lights dimmed like their energy was being drawn in. Then, the person before him was gone.

“Tango?” Jolting, he blinked a few times and looked ahead. A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he jolted, turning to see Skizzle touching his shoulder. Behind him, Impulse and Zedaph both looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Turning back, Tango swallowed. “Y-yeah. Yeah. I think I’m—I think I’m just getting sick.” He replied. Smiling, he glanced at Impulse and Zedaph. “I blame you two.” Impulse snorted, whilst Zedaph looked apologetic.

With a chuckle, Skizzle batted him on the shoulder again. “Well, alright. Come on, let’s go get you something from the doctor. Hate for you to get sick on the way to…where did Cleo say we were going next?”

“Mora Phós. We need to meet up with…something Sian-something.” Impulse replied. Nodding, Skizzle guided Tango and the others back towards the main table. Still, Tango found himself glancing back.

_Why did that person’s armour look so much like Xisuma’s?_

+++

“Shishwammy, you don’t need to worry.”

Glancing over at Keralis, Xisuma sighed and looked at the path ahead as they rode along the mountain paths. “I’m not as confident as you are, Keralis. I don’t—” Xisuma’s eyes wandered to his hands and he shoved them back into his gloves. “I don’t know. Maybe we should leave again.”

“Xisuma, we don’t need to leave. We’re going to be fine.” Keralis reassured. Tilting his head, he asked, “Is this because Python left?”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Xisuma looked ahead. “Maybe.” Before Keralis could respond, Joe and Cub pulled their horses back to ride alongside them. “Joe. Cub. Is something wrong?”

Cub and Joe exchanged a glance. When Joe nodded, dipping his head silently, Cub turned to Keralis and said in a hushed tone, “I suggest you keep an eye out for Skizzle.”

“Skizz?” Glancing ahead, Xisuma focused on the dragon-winged man. Sometime during the night, he’d gotten a horse—a beautiful snowy white mare with a black face and legs. Her mane and tail had stripes of the same jet-black colour, and spots of even more of the black dotted her coat like snow, when you were looking at it against the background of an icy silver sky in morning mountains. As far as he could tell, Skizz wasn’t _that_ much of a threat. At least, not with the others around. He seemed safe. Except…maybe Xisuma was wrong.

( _He had a feeling that he had been wrong about someone before. Someone he’d trusted, and then they had betrayed that trust. He didn’t know how, just dim memories of a blade at his throat, of white with bright purple shimmering all around him. A gasp leaving his throat, snapping through his whole body as cold fire raged in his blood. The feeling of being thrown, of falling, then nothing._

_How did he know that?_

_Why did he feel so…betrayed? Like he had trusted this person with everything, and they had been…they’d been doing something. What had they been doing? Both of them…and why couldn’t he remember?)_

Swallowing, Xisuma glanced over at Keralis. Joe leaned over and kept talking, “We caught Skizzle spying on you a few days back, when none of us knew where Impulse and Python had gone and everyone sort of just…went off to do their own thing.”

“What was he going to do?”

Joe and Cub exchanged a glance. With that, Xisuma frowned. “He wanted to kill one of us.” When they both turned to him, he knew he was right.

“We think that was probably the likelihood. He’d pulled his blades out and was about to slip in.”

Keralis paused and then took advantage of the break in conversation. “There’s something else. What is it?” It wasn’t quite the question. Neither of them spoke, and Keralis asked, “What is it. Cub. Joe. We need an answer.”

“He thinks that we can’t trust you.” Xisuma and Keralis exchanged a quick glance. With a nervous swallow, Cub continued, “I’m honestly not sure whether or not he was right or wrong.”

“He thinks you can’t trust Xisuma or I because none of us really know what’s up with Xisuma. We don’t know how powerful he is, or what potential he has.” Keralis explained, and Joe frowned. “What?”

“Our winged…ally there claims that Xisuma doesn’t _want_ to _remember_ how to control his abilities.” Glancing up ahead at Skizz again, Xisuma realised that while him riding with Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango wasn’t exactly a surprise, both Jevin and Wels were much closer to the group than they normally would have been. If Xisuma wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure that Wels actually had a grip on his sword hilt even as he rode. “And he claims that you, Keralis, can manipulate him however you want. He thinks you’re both potential threats, but Keralis especially.

Nervously, Xisuma glanced at Keralis. The druid’s eyes had narrowed, amber magic sparking up in them dangerously. Skizzle was right, Keralis _was_ a threat. Xisuma was a threat, but not willingly for Xisuma. “What do you mean by that?”

Before Joe and Cub had the chance to reply, there was a burst of bright light.

Scar, Mumbo, and Iskall yelled loudly, horses rearing and squealing as the light struck Grian in the chest. Thrown from his horse, the Cy’Ratha vanished for a quick second before reappearing. Someone was standing behind him, in sleek and form-fitting armour and a helmet with a unique visor. There were two lights, almost ones representing eyes, on the visor. As the person backed up, holding a wicked-looking silver blade to Grian’s throat, the lights flickered around and then met Xisuma’s.

Xisuma froze, memories snapping through his mind again.

There was a blade being held to his throat, the curved and delicate silver glinting in the bright light. Inhaling, Xisuma stared in horror as the world sort of…shifted, somehow. Everything flashed in white and purple for a brief second and all he could see was himself and the other person.

Blinking, he found himself gripping his horse’s reins too tightly. There was another burst of light, and then he was thrown. The world shifted around him—he was falling much, much longer, vibrant night sand stars shimmering around him—and then he was lying on his back on the ground. “Xisuma!”

The person stilled, and Keralis dismounted and helped him upright. “Hello, X’isuma.” A voice called, and xisuma and Keralis both went still before glancing over at them with wide eyes. Held hostage, Grian winced as the blade cut into his throat. Swallowing, he met Xisuma’s gaze.

Joe stepped forwards.

“Well, hello there.” The bard mused, and the masked man in front of them bristled. His blade was still pressed against Grian’s throat, and the Cy’Ratha took a few shaky breaths as he grabbed at his attacker’s arm. Eyes wide, he panted a few times. Scar and Mumbo held Iskall back, exchanging nervous glances between themselves over his back. “Why don’t we have a nice chat about this? After you put that knife of yours down.”

The glittering eyes on the visor of the helmet narrowed, and Grian swallowed nervously. A thin little trail of blood trailed down his neck from where the knife had nicked him. However, the man didn’t move.

“Alright, then. You’re doing this the hard way.” Cleo replied, pulling out her own scimitar and stalking forwards, Brandishing the weapon, she said, “Come on. Fight me like an actual human would.”

“I’m not human.” The person spoke, then looked at Xisuma. “Am I? Xisuma?”

Xisuma said nothing.

“Who do you think you are?” Tango moved between the pair, holding out his own weapons. Impulse and Zedaph flanked him. Despite that, Skizzle stayed back, watching the masked man with cold eyes. Almost like they knew each other. A chill ran down Scar’s spine as he watched them almost stare one another down.

“That’s it.” Cleo charged forwards, and the man shoved Grian to the side. Dodging with a simple movement, he grabbed Cleo’s shoulder, jerked her back, and then leaned in. One of his hands pressed to her forehead, and Cleo stiffened up. Shoving her back, the man watched coldly as Cleo dropped to her knees, scimitar slipping from her hands to clatter on the ground. With a soft groan, she fell to the side, apparently unconscious.

“What the hell?” Iskall whispered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Ren sprinted to Cleo. “Cleo!” He skidded in his knees in the mud and grass. Grian pulled himself up, stared at Cleo as Ren pulled her into his arms with horror splashed across his features. Turning his head, Ren snarled, “What did you do to her?”

The man ignored him. Instead, he turned to look at the others. Purple magic began to spark between his fingers, flashing like rays of dawn being thrown out by the rising sun over the waters of a mountain lake. Swirls reached up his arms, darted around his wrists and elbows up to his shoulders and neck, spiralling over his chest. “Who’s next?” He called, voice ringing clear as crystal across the area. As he spoke, a chill ran through Scar’s chest again, as he stared at the man. That was when it hit him.

“That’s an Athava.”

+++

Rolling his shoulders, the Athava looked at them critically.

“Took you that long to figure out? You’re losing your touch, Goodwin.” Scar’s eyes widened, and he stepped back. “No, you don’t know me. But I know who you are. Scar Goodwin, so named because of the scar across your face after that little…incident. Tell me,” Tossing his head, the man asked, “how long do you have until your little _deal_ runs out?”

“Scar?” Grian glanced at him nervously. Meanwhile, Scar’s eyes narrowed and he summoned his staff. The brown, curved wood slammed into his palm, the purple gem glittering. “Scar—”

“It’s nothing, it doesn’t matter.” Scar replied.

“Just don’t listen to him. He’s trying to distract you.” Skizzle forced out, and the Athava’s gaze flicked to him.

“Ah, Meadowlark-Caracara. I wondered when I’d see you again.” The Athava flicked his hand. Skizzle’s eyes widened, and then he was thrown into the closest boulder with a resounding _crack._ Sliding down to the ground, he went still. “Such a waste of talent. He’d be much better suited somewhere else.”

Impulse charged in. Grabbing his wrist, the Athava jerked him to the side and threw him easily. If Xisuma wasn’t mistaken, it was almost like he was toying with them, somehow.

“Xisuma.” Keralis turned and looked back at him. “When I say run, you run. Do you understand me?”

“What?” Xisuma stared at him. Turning, Keralis made two quick signs to Cub and Joe. Both of them nodded. “Keralis.” None of them answered him, and he felt a push against him from thin air. _“Keralis, no.”_

Turning, Keralis met his gaze. There was a hazy ferocity to the amber-green tones. “Xisuma. _Go.”_

Turning, Xisuma bolted.

The Athava sprinted forwards, and Keralis, Cub, and Joe all lunged for him. Ducking around them, he drove a hand into Cub’s side. Stiffening, Cub dropped to the ground with a gasp. A bright purple and lilac flash of light snapped around them, and Xisuma scrambled behind a tree and looked back in horror as everyone else dropped like ragdolls. Either it was to the Athava or whatever that burst of light had been. He grabbed Keralis by the throat, whispered something, then dropped the half-elf druid to the ground.

Their eyes met, and Xisuma scrambled back even more as the Athava rapidly approached.

“What the hell are you?” Xisuma asked, and the Athava on top of him laughed wickedly. Fingers wrapped around his throat, yanked him upright. Holding him by the throat, he tilted his head to the side, looked Xisuma up and down. “Who— _are—you?”_

There was a moment’s pause, like the Athava was deciding what to do with him. Pain burst out from Xisuma’s stomach, and his eyes darted down to see a knife with an elegantly curved handle sticking out of his stomach. The Athava’s other hand gripped the handle, then released it. A mark was pressed into the forged silver, and Xisuma’s heart stilled in his chest for a moment at the sight of it. “I’m not surprised. Disappointed, perhaps. But not surprised. And…sorry about this, but it’s for your own protection.” Xisuma glanced back at the cold visor.

“What are you—” There was a whipping noise around him, and then all of a sudden everything was one burst of white-hot, fiery pain. Screaming, Xisuma clawed at the hand in front of him, froze when he realised he could see only in white and purple. He couldn’t see anything else, just himself and the person in front of him. Shades of purple danced across both their forms, darkening at their chests and where they touched. Before Xisuma could process it, though, the pain crashed down over his head like a tsunami, flooding through every sense and cell.

He didn’t remember blacking out.

+++

Bare feet slapped against pine needles, moss, and rocks as she ran.

Glancing over her shoulder, Cleo sucked in a panicked breath. Smoke billowed through the woods, casting a dark red glow over everything. _Come on, come on!_ Glancing around, she sucked in another breath and skidded to a stop. One of her hands flew out to latch around a gnarled branch. Stripes of stinging, itching pain dragged along her palm, and she glanced back and then froze. Pale, creamy skin the same tawny-gold tones as blonde wood planks gleamed in the moonlight, and she froze. _What?_ Frowning, Cleo glanced down at herself. _Why was I running?_

Around her, the woods rapidly switched from their current, lush emerald green state to charcoal remnants of what was once a great wood.

Blinking, Cleo slowly took in her own appearance. There was a leather belt slung across her hips, potion bottles capped and tied there. _What?_ A white apron was tied around her front, the fabric stained in several places with a multitude of tones and shades. Purple, green, and blue. Not blood by any means, nor oil. Nothing she would have expected. Underneath was… _why am I dressed like a cleric? This…this isn’t right._ She didn’t remember what had happened before…

Running a hand into her hair, Cleo paused at the sight of her skin again. There weren’t even _hints_ of the pale green she normally had. _But…_ she slid a hand along the deep green and browns of her skirt, looked at her sleeves curiously. _I don’t understand._

Behind her, a stick cracked.

Whipping around, she saw a man standing behind her. An outlaw, or a bounty hunter. “Well hello there, girlie.” Grinning toothily, he leaned against a tree. “Care to explain why you’re so far away from Mora Phós?” One of his eyebrows arched, and she saw the light to his eyes. Orange glinted pale in the moonlight, and he let a hand settle on his belt. There was a pistol—something old, antique. The rustic gold of the barrel flashed.

That was when it hit her.

_This is the past._ Taking a step away, she looked at her hair again. Time seemed to have paused around her. Despite that, her hair was as red as it had been when she’d last see it, fuller if anything. Heart pounding, she looked to him. _This is_ my _past._

The man waved a hand. Flames crackled closer and closer, and she stared at him as smoke began to engulf the trees. “Who are you?” She asked. As she spoke, her voice cracked. Stepping back, she glanced behind her as pebbles scattered down the cliffs behind her. There was no way she’s survive if she fell—there was nothing more than barren grey rock.

“That’s simple. They call me Damen Ember. Recognise the name?” Her head jerked up and she stared at him, wide-eyed. Laughing, Damen waved a hand at the flames. The monster in them—a wolfish thing made of fire—paused. Orange and yellow flickered across them both, and Damen brushed some ash off the shoulder of his tawny poncho-looking thing. His eyes darted back to Cleo. “You’re a pretty girl. I’m sure I don’t have to kill you. You could just come with me, we could set you up in some big city. You could make a nice little life, selling flowers. Of course, I’d have to cut off your hands—can’t have you keeping up your cleric work—but I’m sure you’d survive until then.”

_He killed everyone else. Damen Ember and his firehound, the Glaedirian mercenary. With some of the chimeras._ She blinked, took a breath and glanced back over the edge of the cliff. _But he died decades ago. Almost a century ago._ Their gazes met again, _So why do I remember him? Why is he in my memories?_

“No.” She replied, taking another step back. Damen’s face fell and he grinned wickedly. Making a gesture to the firehound, he turned and stalked back through the flames. The firehound lunged, and Cleo stepped back—

Everything sped up.

All of a sudden, there were deep gashes through her stomach, blood dripping from them.

Then she was being carried through the woods, someone whispering encouragement to her as she passed out.

They were cornered, and there was screaming.

“Get down!” A familiar voice said, and a chimera roared. She was dropped. One of the beasts leapt on top of her. Snarling, it leaned above her, maw open. “ _Cleo!”_ Dimly, she realised she knew the voice—Delilah. A friend. Someone she’d grown up with.

Massive teeth snapped down towards her, and Cleo couldn’t do anything but stare.

Then, she was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark. Cold. Heavy weight pressed in on all of her sides, and she jerked. No air came to her, though, just dirt falling into her mouth and eyes. Struggling, she forced her way upright, felt the earth moving around her like it was trying to help her. One of her hands cleared the surface and she dragged herself out, spitting and gasping.

Crawling across the ground, she gasped and looked around. _Where am I?_ Something in her chest clenched and she whirled around to see someone walking up. “St-stay back!” She croaked, staring at them. They stumbled out into the clearing, one hand clapped over a tan shoulder. Their dark trousers were ripped, cream fabric of their shirt torn and patched with blood. Dark eyes met hers and widened, and Cleo swallowed nervously. Most of the blood matted his shoulder, where massive teeth had slammed themselves into his shoulder. “Ar—are you okay?”

“Are you a cleric?” He asked, and she blinked a few times. “Please.” Collapsing to his knees in the grass, he stared at her desperately, chest heaving. Cleo stumbled over, checked out the bite without thinking.

“What caused this?” He hesitated to answer. Looking at him, she said, “I need to know.”

“Were-werewolf. My village got attacked. I got bit—they’re going to exile me if I can’t fix it.”

“How old?”

“Three days.” Huffing to herself, she pulled the shirt away and he grimaced at the smell. Even with a fading, dim memory, Cleo could tell it was infected. At the very least, it’d scar. He was probably already turning as well. “Please.”

“I won’t be able to fix this.” Glancing at the moon, she turned to look back at him. “But I can help. What’s your name?”

Swallowing, he stared at her. “Ren. Ren Fleet.” Smiling, Cleo touched his uninjured shoulder.

“I’m Cleo.”

All of a sudden, everything faded. It was like she was a spectator, or a ghost. _That’s how I met Ren._ She realised, then turned to look back at the place in the grass where she had crawled out. A dim echo of a voice met her ears, and she turned to see her friend—the woman with the dark green eyes and the brown curls and the white dress. Delilah. “Delilah?” She asked, and Delilah smiled softly. When she opened her mouth, she said one thing.

“ _Meet me in Mora Phós.”_

+++

Galactic _Meaning_

  1. Y𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷリ'ℸ ̣ ᒲᒷᔑリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ᓭᒷᒷ ᒲᒷ.



_You aren’t meant to see me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy more background. If you haven’t figured out what Cleo is, it should be obvious pretty soon (I’ll give you a hint, Ren’s not the only one who had a major influence on his species or just character in general. Rendog is a werewolf, white knight Wels is a werehellhound paladin, Grian’s skill with his wings made him a Cy’Ratha, Joe’s prose skills allowed him to be a bard, Jevin’s Visho state, Stress’ flower in her hair. Tango’s red eyes made me think “huh, tiefling”. Doc and Etho and Scar all influenced their jobs and types. Cleo’s been influenced, as well as Xisuma and Zedaph, from what you’ve seen.) Anyways, next up is the next interlude, and the chapters have been updated to show up to Chapter 45, in Act 4. Chapters will probably stop being as long as they were at the start, mostly because I’m just going to let them run through and they’ll be however long they are.  
> Please pay attention to things, Chekov’s gun is beginning to be coming into play for sure. Also, this big fic is nearly 150k words.  
> So, the reason you got this so quickly (as if eleven days since the last one is *quickly*) is because my brother decided to be super homophobic. Next up is an Interlude known as Phoenix Fire! (My brother…we’ll see how long it takes until I snap but lemme tell you I almost kicked something today and that is very much out of character for me. My current plan is, when I sell enough books, I’m buying a skateboard and an ace pride flag so I can skate around with it rippling in the wind)  
> Also, I wish one of my guinea pigs could learn when to shut her little mouth. She’s been wheeking at me nonstop every day for the past week and the only solution is to feed her but if I feed her she will associate wheeking with getting food and I can’t have that. So I have to ignore her. I’m this close to just being like “alright, if you wheek I’m going to stick you in the other cage while I’m in class”. Because I love her wheeks, but I really can’t have her going off during class.  
> Anyways, y’all are loved and appreciated and awesome and amazing. Thank you for reading and for your patience with this story. If you want to follow my tumblr (goldstonewolf) or the AU tumblr (hermitcraftcursedcrownau), if you’re just here for the hermitcraft, feel free. However, if you do follow the former please be aware you’re going to need a tumblr account to find it and also I will be posting other stuff (including my own fandoms, because I need to advertise since I can't afford any other way). I hope you have a lovely day, and I hope to see you in the next one!


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